Fate be Changed
by Araceil
Summary: Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse. (Covers both the Hobbit and LotR - fem!Hobbit!Harry)
1. Concerning a Little Hobbit Lass

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING  
**Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash only

_**000**_

**PROLOGUE – Concerning a little Hobbit Lass**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

"**Bodo! Bodo, look! My first daughter!"**

"Dodo, stop shouting or you'll wake her!"

"Oh, sorry Holly-dear."

"I know you are, dear-heart, but she's only just gotten off to sleep," his haggard looking tired wife scolded from her bed, his mother and sisters bustling importantly around the bed, stripping and changing the soiled sheets, helping his wife into a new nightdress and generally settling the new mother.

It was a wonder. No, it truly was. Married for thirty years and _finally_ a child, a little Hobbit of his own. And probably the last one to his name he thought sadly, going to his exhausted wife's side as Linda, Bodo's wife-to-be, a handsome young lass from the Baggins family, helped her drink from a wooden cup of water. He had nearly lost them both today. The birth had been furthest from easy and he himself often felt close to tears as his beloved's wailing cries of pain pierced through the earthen walls to shred his ears and heart to ribbons. They had been trying since their wedding day for younglings, and now, now, they had finally been blessed but...

"How are you, Apple?" he asked his wife softly, gently reaching out to smooth her rose curls from her sweaty face.

"Tired, sore..." she trailed off before a fierce smile cross her lips, "But happy. We have her. Our little girl," she whispered, shifting a little to stare at the tiny elfin face sleeping quietly in her father's arms.

"We have her."

_**000**_

"Willowyn Proudfoot! You get your backside back in this hole this instant young lady!" Dodo Proudfoot bellowed after his daughter as she streaked across the fields, far too far away to hear his angry bellow as he spotted Linda's younger cousin, his sunshiny-brown curls catching the light as his daughter's earthy dark brown joined him, the pair of them running towards the East Farthing woods.

He sighed in aggravation as he picked up the pretty forget-me-not blue dress that his mother, Blossom, had specifically taken in and hemmed for his little girl. It seemed as if she had waited until they were busy, shucked the dress, and slipped out the door in his brother's old shirt and breeches.

What was he going to do with her?

Holly, the Apple of his eye, only laughed when he shamefacedly slunk into her bedchamber and informed her of their daughter's latest escapade. The birth of their little girl had hit her health hard, and most often of a day, his sweet Holly could not find the strength to get out of bed.

"My ancestor's blood is strong," she giggled weakly and Dodo could only sigh and kiss her forehead in resignation.

Holly Took, tallest of her siblings, had mourned bitterly over her height as no boy would want to wed a girl so tall or with feet so bare of hair, but Dodo took one look at the lass with hair the colour of red roses, and eyes like grass and instantly fell head over heels in love and utter foolishness. He made the trek from the Shire to Tuckborough at every opportunity in his best green coat, with the brightest of yellow flowers he could find to give to her, blushing and stuttering that as lovely as they were, they weren't a patch on her and would she care for a walk? Almost every day he would come with a flower and an invitation, and every day, Holly Took felt herself fall a little more in love with the boy whose feet were so big he tripped over himself, with dark earth brown hair like the dirt of the garden she loved, and a wide dimpled smile that lit up the world around her.

"I just worry. It isn't lady-like, and certainly not respectable," he lamented softly as he stroked the skin on the back of her hand under his thumb.

"Oh pish. They're children. Let them play," she told him with a dismissive sniff and Dodo could do nothing but nod and agree.

_**000**_

"Do I have to?" the little red headed girl whined, eyeing the other with a look of poorly concealed revulsion.

Willowyn watched Old Mrs Brandybuck usher her granddaughter over to her, "Yes Berry, you do. Now behave yourself and play nicely," she ordered her granddaughter before turning and briskly marching off to go and coordinate her younger siblings and children.

She was a lovely looking thing, thick curly red hair, freckles that framed her cheeks prettily, and cinnamon brown eyes that looked closer to sunset-gold when the light caught them. She wore a velvet dress of pale pink with white lace on the hem and neck and large poofy sleeves, her feet were small and dainty and properly fluffed of hair for a Lass and her hands were clean and her nails were trimmed. She would have been even more lovely if her expression weren't closer to that of someone who had smelt fermented cow-dung under their nose.

"...Berry Bolger, at your... service," the girl forced out with a stilted curtsey.

"...Willowyn Proudfoot. Good evening," she stated in return with a graceful curtsey of her green dress that had the little girl blinking in surprise.

"Owyn! Owyn!" Beryl's face twisted in even further disapproval as a gaggle of boys tumbled to the ground in front of the other girl. Bilbo at the fore, his round face shining in excitement, "Old Took's telling stories over by the oak-tree!" he gushed.

"What kind?" the girl asked as she completely turned away from Berry.

"About Bandobras Took, the Bullroarer, who ran into the Goblin hordes and _smashed_ the Goblin King!" he exclaimed, flapping his arms as the girl's face practically lit up with excitement.

"Let's go!" she squeaked and all at once, the boys, Bilbo, and the girl who hiked her skirts up almost indecently, all scrambled off towards old Took. Leaving Berry behind to sneer at the girl's retreating back in disgust.

_**000**_

"She's so tall, no one'll want her for a wife."

"They match her feet. Did you _see_ them? They've gotten bigger! How is that even possible?"

"I'm quite sure I have no idea, but it's quite beyond the pale isn't it? I would feel sorry for her but with the way she's been acting since her dear-mother died is highly unseemly."

"Oh don't start pitying the thing. She's always been like this. Running off into the forest with the Baggins lad, looking for elves and worms and mud, coming back with pockets full of creepy crawlies and a head full of twigs and dirt. She hasn't changed one jot since her childhood. Where as Bilbo Baggins has nicely begun to settle down, now that is a respectable young Hobbit lad. It's him I feel for. Ever since her father threw her out, she's been living with him."

"Oh my! They aren't – you know – "

"What? Oh goodness no! Wild as he was, Mister Baggin is far too respectable for _that_ kind of behaviour. No. I went over there for afternoon tea just a few days ago, they sleep in separate rooms with locks on the door. A smart precautionary measure, I feel. Even if Master Baggins is of the gentle-Hobbitly sort, _that_ girl most certainly isn't."

Titters of amusement and agreement filled the little Hobbit hole.

And in the kitchen, leaning against the table with a cup of tea in hand and a stony look on her face, was the subject of conversation, stood opposite was her friend Grundo Chubb looking absolutely horrified, a stick of cheese raised halfway to his mouth from where he had been raiding the pantry and quite unaware of what his guest had been overhearing in the living room until he returned.

She quietly set her teacup down, and pushed away from the table.

"Do you think that's why the boys are all flocking to her? Because she's easy?" one of the girls hush-hushed in the other room.

Grundo's face went green with horror and Willowyn laid a hand on his shoulder, horrified blue eyes turned to her as the conversation in the other room continued, casting doubts as to her honour, respectability, though thankfully not her parentage – otherwise she would had to have smashed the teapot over the speaker's head, whether there was still hot tea in the pot or not. She shook her head and smiled kindly to her friend before silently leaving via the back door.

The next time she saw Grundo, he turned his face away, miserable and guilty, and hurried on without stopping to say hello.

_**000**_

Willowyn Proudfoot sat at the grave of her mother, gently replanting the flowers and herbs that she knew the woman loved. It had been ten years since her passing and she missed the woman a little more every day, with every snide passing comment, with every scornful glance at the pub, and considering glance shot her way in the dark on her way home.

It would have been funny if it weren't so sad.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

In one life, she was hated by her family and the local community for being different, for being a freak. In this one, it was exactly the same but by now, she just didn't care anymore. These hobbits... These plump, merry, soft, amazing, thoughtless, ignorant, hurtful, humble, kind, _human_ Hobbits. She sighed quietly.

"I wish you were here, mother," she whispered, fingertips grazing the top of the gravestone. It was dark, twilight on a fullmoon, she would not be disturbed in the graveyard, the only time she kept to herself in order to speak with her mother without glares and eavesdropping. "You and Bilbo were the only things keeping me here. Even father's turned on me, thrown me out, cursed me, glared at me. I cannot change who I am, and nor will I try. I'm sorry mother. I tried. I tried to be the Lady you asked me to be. But I can't."

Not when she could smell blood and fire in her nose. Not when she dreamt of castles falling and wizards fighting. Not when she dreamt of a dawn stained scarlet and the blood-smeared dead at her feet.

Dreams of a boy called Harry Potter, shards of a life no longer her own, like splinters in her brain that were painful until she dislodged them. Until she watched and accepted and assimilated them. She was not Harry Potter. Harry Potter was not Willowyn Proudfoot.

Harry Potter was an echo of what she once was. His time had passed, but his voice remained. His heart remained. Beating and feeling in her chest.

That kind heart that tempered her fury. That silenced her sharp, hurtful tongue.

Laughter echoed up from the village and she sighed, leaning forward to kiss the stone, "I will come back again," she promised before getting to her feet and flitting away in the darkness to avoid those merry Hobbits returning from the pub.

And from behind an oak-tree, Bilbo Baggins slid down the bark and into the roots, his stomach full of lead and glass.

How could he have ever believed those horrible rumours?

_**000**_

She hated hunting in the dark, especially when it was raining, but she didn't want to go back to the Shire right now, and she was right on the trail of a herd of deer. They had a half-lame female that would do well for both her and Bilbo if she could down it and get it back to the Hole. Which brought her to crouching behind a bramble thicket, her little home-made bow and arrow set. It had taken a great deal of time and some careful work in order to make it so that her bow wouldn't be useless in the rain, but she would have to dry it properly when she got back otherwise the wood would crack.

It was then that she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Someone was watching her.

Huddled as she was in her heavy woollen cloak, her ears peeled for sound, she heard it – somehow – over the crashing rain and distant rumble of thunder. The sound of water striking on metal.

To the left.

She heard the shifting of leaves coming closer and lunged to the side, rolling into a kneeling position – bringing her arrow to bear, aimed directly at the hooded figure's throat. Or where she estimated this Big Folk's throat was.

"Stop! Or I'll shoot you in the damn face!" she snarled. Thankfully, they did stop, they even held their hands up, freely showing they had no weapons in hand. Her gaze narrowed. "What are you doing here?" she demanded coolly, politely shifting her arrow just enough that he could see it was no longer aimed at his head, but it was still up, and drawn, the only concession she was going to make was that.

"Hunting for dinner," came the response, male, gruff, older than her she was willing to bet.

"Big Folk don't come to these parts. I don't believe you, stranger. The truth, please," she requested coldly, shifting the arrow back to his face. She didn't know why, but she got the impression of amusement from him and narrowed her gaze.

"A Hobbit? You're the only kind that call us Big Folk," he observed. "I am Halbarad, current head of the Rangers protecting this area. And yes, I really was hunting for dinner. Though, the deer have long since run away now."

Her mind flew through options quickly, "If you're here for the protection of the area, why haven't any of us heard about it? Does the Thain even know?" she demanded sharply.

The Man laughed, "Such a suspicious little Hobbit!" he exclaimed, "I would approve if I weren't being held at arrow-point! Yes, Master Took is indeed quite aware of our presence. We stay out of sight for the peace of mind of you Little Folk, have no fear young Master, we mean no harm," he assured her.

And slowly, very slowly, she lowered her bow, relaxing the draw.

"I'm Willowyn. I... am sorry for my impoliteness."

He laughed again, dropping his arms, but making no move to draw a blade, "Quite. As I said, I would approve had it not been me held at arrow-point. As I am no longer in danger of such, I am free to applaud your precaution Little One."

She flushed, thankful for the heavy darkness and hood that hid it from his gaze.

_**000**_

Her first impression of the Rangers was that they were a surly lot, prone to long bouts of moodiness and silence, sitting in the dark and smoking. Halbarad was kind enough to let her remain with them until the rain tapered off, even share in some stew from earlier hunting expeditions and let her bed-down in an unoccupied corner of the camp, not far from him. She slept easily, but not lightly.

The next morning disproved her idea that they were moody and surly, apparently Rangers just didn't like being stuck out in the wet and the cold, used to it was they were regardless. They were actually fairly cheerful and friendly as they clustered around the camp-fire, frying up eggs and bacon and oatmeal porridge. Awkwardly, as they had been kind enough to give her shelter for the night, Willowyn set herself to aiding them in little ways that she could. Fetching more firewood, washing the dirty dishes that she found, even watching the pot and ladling out some bowls when the cook asked her to keep an eye on things briefly.

Halbarad could only grin when he came out and found her. It seemed as if the young Lass had managed to fit right in with their company in her own quiet little way, he could already tell his Rangers were both curious but also indulgent of the Halfling that trailed through their camp, occasionally with firewood in arm, or clean dishes. In the daylight, he could identify the Lass as not yet even thirty, twenty five, twenty three perhaps, but nowhere near of age. And his eyes weren't the only set that realised they were looking at a little Lass instead of a lad. His clue had been her name, the others found their eyes lingering on her much longer hair and gentle face. He hadn't been expecting her to be so sweet in appearance when she threatened him at arrow-point, shaking like a leaf in that storm with leaves plastered up one side of her sodden wet cloak. She had looked about as threatening as a soggy kitten.

"So this is the Proudfoot girl," Baradal observed softly, mug in hand, watching the girl slap greedy hands with a ladle and scold the laughing Rangers away from the breakfast pot.

"You know of her?" Halbarad asked curiously. Of all of them, Baradal was the one who paid the most attention to the local gossip and comings and goings of their Little Lambs.

He nodded, "She's considered a leper amongst them. Disreputable. Unlady-like," he grunted, taking a long draught of his bitter tea. "We'll be seeing her more often," he warned.

Halbarad chuckled, "That would not be so bad."

_**000**_

He wasn't wrong.

After that first meeting, she would show up again and again, sometimes happy, sometimes not. Sometimes she would stay only for a night, sometimes for several days.

She came to know each and every one of the Rangers by name, hear their tales, learn their likes and dislikes, the weapons they specialised in, and the places they'd seen.

They even taught her how to fight and got her a blade of her own, they called it a dagger, but in her hands it looked like a short-sword. She took to it like a duck to water, much to the hard-bitten mens' delight. The women teaching her little tricks like how to better bind her breasts, plants and herbs that would hide her scent, stop her monthly menses, and ways of putting a man on his back in under a second if he thought to touch her inappropriately.

Halbarad found it both amazing and hilarious that the tough Rangers of the North were now wrapped around the little finger of a Hobbit Lass who wanted nothing more than to be accepted, by her own kin, or by them. She just wished for a place to belong. And they did their best to provide and were rewarded with blinding smiles reserved just for them.

_**000**_

"Marriage, Bilbo? Really?" Willowyn asked doubtfully as she ladled out bowls of steaming hot porridge for their breakfast. She set them down on the table and gently tilted his chin up, checking his eyes, "Your pupils look fine. I can't feel any kind of fever..." she combed her fingers through his hair and Bilbo flushed hard, realising she was looking for injuries.

"I haven't hit my head, Willowyn!" he snapped as she released him.

"Well, excuse me," she huffed as she sat down, "But I can't think of any other reason for you to take leave of your senses like that."

"I haven't taken leave of my senses!" Bilbo flared unhappily as she dug into her food. "It's just... Everyone is speaking ill of you, and I don't like it. You're my dearest friend, and I worry," he explained as he dug into his own bowl. Perfectly seasoned with a pinch of cinnamon and a dollop of honey, wonderful. If there was one lady-like thing that Willowyn excelled at, it was cooking. It was perhaps her one saving grace amidst the feminine arts that Bilbo was actively aware of.

"Let them talk," the girl stated flatly, so flatly, that had he been anyone else, Bilbo may have actually believed that their words did not upset her. But they did, they cut her deeply and he damn well knew it.

"No," the plump Hobbit grumped, frowning, "I will not." He set his spoon down and caught her free wrist, she paused, spoon raised to her mouth and he was struck, yet again, by the fact that she _was_ a lovely looking creature. Had she been more lady-like, there wouldn't be a Hobbit in the Shire who did not envy her, or wish to court her. Hair the colour of fresh tilled earth, eyes like grass, skin pale as milk, a gentle oval shaped face, delicately pointed ears, and dainty hands. But her fondness for mens' clothing, her lack of care for her hair and nails, the size of her feet, and her height, not to mention the wildness of her, they just... "It does not have to be permanent, if you do not wish it. But..."

She smiled, a trifle bitterly, "But should I ever cease my foolishness and become a proper Hobbit lass, no lad will ever wish to wed me with those horrid rumours? How they will forever haunt my steps? And the Baggins name will afford me some protection from that backlash? Your respectability, to counter my disreputableness?" she summed up easily. He nodded earnestly. She was his dearest friend, none of the ladies in the Shire had caught his eye and he knew, down to his very bones, he would likely remain a bachelor for life. But if he married his bestfriend, he could protect her from the worst, and when she settled down, he would have himself a wife who knew him, his quirks and flaws, and was perfectly able to work around them and accept them if she hadn't already.

"And what has Hamfast said about this?" she asked softly.

Bilbo paused, he... he hadn't been aware she knew about that.

He blushed, "He says it is a grand idea," he muttered, "That he would have offered you himself if Bell hadn't been promised to him."

She laughed and lifted his hand, kissing his knuckles, "You two are far too kind for the likes of Bell Goodchild and myself. I wish you both all the luck in the world," she told him sweetly, squeezing his fingers as he blushed, horribly pleased with her easy acceptance and support of his very secret relationship with Hamfast Gamgee. A relationship that not even his wife-to-be, Bell, knew of.

"Will you..." Bilbo trailed off, unwilling to say '_let me take care of you_', because he knew, that out of the two of them, Willowyn was the one who was most able to take care of herself. The one able to go out into the world and face it with clear eyes and survive by herself. Bilbo had waited until she turned thirty-five before asking, just in case it was her intention to leave as soon as she came of age, but she hadn't, so he could only assume she desired to stay in the Shire.

She sighed and squeezed his fingers, "Very well. Just... Lobellia is _not_ invited, understand?" she asked firmly, green eyes glinting hard.

Bilbo nodded in relief. Any excuse to keep the foul young woman as far away as possible was a good one as far as he was concerned.

_**000**_

Years passed.

Gossip came and went.

Talk of how 'That Proudfoot Girl' was starving herself with a scant three meals a day (for attention, the whispers said) came and went with only Bilbo and Hamfast to worry themselves.

Birthdays happened, and Willowyn's continued to be the least attended of any celebration in the village, her invitations to and from others mysteriously lost in the post while Bilbo's arrived unharmed and on time.

Hamfast and Bell married with Willowyn doing her level very best to be as lady-like and polite as possible so as not to embarrass or ruin the couple's special day. She presented them both with their own gifts, not usually done at a wedding but she wanted them to know she cared for them dearly. An embroidered bed-cover of buttercups and daisies that she made herself for Bell, and a set of gardener's tools for Hamfast that Halbarad was kind enough to buy at her request when next he stopped in Bree – she paid for it herself, he just carried it back for her. She kept her tongue and her smile even as snide whispers followed her back, even as mouths hung open in disbelief to see her so prettied up and well-behaved. Hobbits congratulating Bilbo on 'taming the shrew' who shook his head and frowned at them. After the wedding she went straight back to the way she was and all they could do was sigh, shake their heads, and pat Bilbo on the shoulder as if commiserating with him. As if he actually cared that she wasn't lady-like.

And apart from one incident, in the afternoon, when she came back and caught Bilbo and Hamfast in the act, things were calm and quiet and the same as they always were (even though for a month afterwards Hamfast would go pink whenever he saw her and Bilbo was completely unable to look her in the eye – all she'd done was say "Oh don't mind me, I'll be back out in a second" before grabbing a cloak and slipping away).

Then one evening, buck over one shoulder, two days of successful hunting with the Rangers behind her, and a smile on her face, she came home to every light in the burrow blazing.

"Bilbo?" she called as she shouldered the door open, "Bilbo, could you get the bucket from the larder set up? Have I got - "

And stopped mid-sentence at the sight of a Dwarf in her front hall, armed to the teeth with freshly sharpened blades.

_**000**_

**Prologue done. Next chapter will see the beginning of 'The Unexpected Journey'. To warn my lovely readers, I'm taking from ****both**** book and film but predominantly from the film as I have better access to it and it's easier to work off.**

**Links to drawings and Illustrations of Willow will be put on my facebook and Tumblr soon (when I can find my blood scanner cable).**


	2. For Better or Worse

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER ONE – For Better or Worse**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**WARNING: a bit of a language thing, Dwarves'll be describing colours using minerals in this chapter, you may want to have Google Image search open in a separate window to type the terms in. Like I said, I researched for this and some of the stones are **staggeringly** beautiful. Who knew they were closet romantics?**

Bilbo was having a Nice Day.

The keyword in that sentence being: _was_.

Their pantry was pilfered to crumbs, their bathroom was blitzed and he dreaded to know Willowyn's reaction to the state their pipes were in (she would be the one to clean them out as the only one who knew _how_ to), there was mud ground into his carpets and the handkerchiefs that Willow spent so many hours secretively embroidering for his fiftieth birthday so as to surprise him were soiled and stained with food and wine and ale. That alone would have brought him to tears but one of them had even managed to get into her room (if he thought he would survive it, he would have punched them for breaking into a woman's private bedchamber like that!) and find the maps she had painstakingly drawn up with the help of her Big Folk friends whom she introduced him to some years ago – a merry, if rough looking, group with ready smiles and songs.

"Gandalf, I don't understand what they're doing in my _house_!" he squawked in distress. If Willowyn came back now – those Dwarves were going to be in for a world of hurt! She had been training with those Rangers a great deal as that idiot Loather Sackville found out the hard way when he thought to try those rumours out for himself and received a broken arm for his troubles. She told him that she wanted to take over for Halbarad as protector of the Shire and coordinator of the Ranger volunteers so that he could go back to aiding his Captain Elessar whom he had the utmost respect for (and if it meant she vanished out of view then it was all the better for her).

"'Scuse me. I'm sorry to interrupt," broke in the youngest of the dwarves, Ori, "But what should I do with my plate?" he asked innocently.

The blond dwarf with the braided moustache, Fili, stepped forward with a smile, "Here you go, Ori. Give it to me," he told the younger red head before flicking it down the hallway to his brother, the dark haired Kili, forcing Gandalf to shift out of the way quickly.

Bilbo gaped, hardly believing what he was seeing. Were they – were they _really_ throwing his – as if – how could they be so – he spluttered in shock and horror.

"E-Excuse me! That's my mother's Westfarthing Pottery!" he yelped, "_It's over a hundred years old!_" he cried, throat constricting in horror as he saw them _kicking_ it into the air! The sound of cutlery striking itself filled the air and, resigned because he knew they wouldn't listen, he turned to the others, "And can – can you not do that? You'll _blunt_ them!"

"Ooh, do you hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives," Bofur, the Dwarf with the brown hat whose ears stuck out almost as far as the braids in his moustache, repeated mockingly.

Kili laughed and started to sing as his brother threw more plates in his direction.

"_Blunt the knives,  
Bend the forks,"  
"Smash the Bottles  
and burn the Corks,"_ Fili joined in.  
"_Chip the glasses  
and crack the plates,"_ the other Dwarves joined in.

"_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_" they all chorused with grins.

"_Cut the cloth,  
Tread on the fat,  
Leave the bones  
on the bedroom mat  
Pour the milk  
On the pantry floor...  
Smash the wine on every Door!_

"_Dump the crocks  
in a boiling bowl  
Pound them up  
With a thumping Pole  
When you're finished  
If they are whole_

"_Send them down the Hall to roll!"_ They burst out into laughter, dishes and cutlery flying this way and that, music filling the dining room as Gandalf blew smoke-rings for the dishes to fly through.

"_That's what Bilbo Baggins Hates!_"

Near to tears, the portly Hobbit pushed between Fili and Ori only to pause, blinking in surprise at the neat piles of plates and bowls, completely unharmed upon his dining room table. The dwarves all laughing merrily, Gandalf positively twinkling at him as he laughed, Kili's voice in the back exclaiming over the look on his face.

Only for the merriment to cut off with the sound of a fist against his front door.

Gandalf looked between them all, "He is here."

_**000**_

Balin pressed his lips together, feeling a queer mix of disappointment, approval and resignation as he watched young Mister Baggins retreat to his room down the corridor, "It appears we have lost our Burglar," he observed tiredly. "Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, Miners... Tinkers, toy-makers," he chuckled glancing down the hall to where Bombur was fussing over his elder cousin Bifur. He looked away, "Hardly the stuff of legend."

Thorin smirked behind his beard, "There are a few warriors amongst us," he reminded the elderly dwarf gently.

Balin scoffed momentarily, "_Old_ warriors," he corrected.

"I would take each and every one of these Dwarves over an Army from the Iron Hills," Thorin stoutly told his old friend. "For when I called upon them, they answered. Loyalty, honour, a willing heart. I can ask no more than that," he said as Balin shook his head looking pained.

"You don't have to do this," he told the Dwarf, a grimace written across his hairy features. "You have a choice," he pointed out, "You've done honourably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains. A life of peace, and plenty. A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor."

"From my grandfather, to my father, _This_ has come to me," he countered, holding the key he received from Gandalf aloft, Balin's eyes closing briefly in defeat. "They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There _is_ no choice, Balin.

"Not for me."

The front door opened.

"Bilbo? Bilbo, could you get the bucket from the larder set up? Have I got - "

Fili paused in the hallway, biscuit half-raised to his mouth as a small figure stepped into the door, a handsome buck slung over both shoulders, calling for their burglar. A hobbit, clearly by the large hairy feet peeking out, in a long heavy black cloak, hooded and weighed down. He got perhaps a glimpse of a smooth face and wide malachite coloured eyes before suddenly the buck was thrown into his arms with force.

He grunted, stumbling backwards as the Hobbit took two steps forward and jumped, legs snapping up and into the buck, kicking him backwards with both feet before tumbling back and rolling to his feet, drawing a dagger as he found himself flung backwards past his Uncle and ungracefully onto his backside.

"What have you done with Bilbo!" the figure snarled as all the Dwarves jumped to attention.

Bofur lunged at them from behind only for the small figure to spin around him, kicking the back of his leg out from under him, sending him down onto the ground with a shout of surprise even as Dwalin thundered out of the living room and drove the unknown Hobbit back against the now closed door.

He jumped, and having seen the kick that knocked Fili back earlier, Dwalin snapped his arms up over his chest to brace for impact, only to find the Hobbit kicking off _against_ the door behind him in order to dive _over_ his head.

Hitting the ground in a roll, they jumped back to their feet, blade ready as they observed the room – until Fili tackled them!

One arm going around the figure's chest, pinning his free arm down, the other grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the blade dropped from their fingers, the Hobbit struggled fiercely, even going so far as to kick a foot back into the fork of Fili's legs – loosening his grip enough for the figure to work their way out of his hold, and their cloak.

Long, dark curly hair fell free as the thin figure grabbed the hem of the cloak and flung it over Fili's face, twisting around him and smothering him with the heavy fabric before kicking him into Dwalin – knocking the pair of them backwards.

Right before Thorin bulldozed into them.

The tiny figure went flying into the wall with a cry as the Dwarf King slammed into him and grabbed them by both hands and throat, pinning the small figure against the wall their feet dangling helplessly above the ground. Feet which then began uselessly to kick at him, the bare flesh doing little more than perhaps leaving a few light bruises where his clothing was less padded and armoured.

They were surprisingly tall for a Hobbit, standing at 3'10", as opposed to Mister Baggins 3'7" which, they were told, was quite tall in terms of an average height. A smooth face with high cheekbones, sharp, and blemish free, a head of thick loosely curled and wavy hair the colour of dark citrine, tightly braided back, curls escaped here and there, falling down to their elbows. Dressed in a charcoal grey shirt and black waistcoat of tough linen weave, they wore thick leather trousers, cut at the shins, with extra padding at the knees, around the figure's waist was a belt and a pair of scabbards, one empty, the other caught on the edge of a shirt – hence why they hadn't drawn it.

Gandalf sighed when he finally managed to duck into the room, "Good gracious! Thorin! Let go immediately, you're choking the boy!" the Grey Wizard called.

Thorin growled a little only to pause in shock and wonder as eyes the colour of emerald malachite opened and glared down at him.

"Thorin!" the wizard roared.

The Dwarf dropped the Hobbit as if burned, stepping back and away from the small figure as they tumbled to the floor, rasping and choking in pain.

"Owyn! What have you done? Owyn, are you alright?" their Burglar exclaimed, pushing past them and dropping down to the dark haired Hobbit's side, pudgy butter-soft hands fluttering anxiously.

"Owyn Proudfoot, what on _earth_ are you doing here, my boy?" Gandalf asked slowly as he knelt down in front of the rasping Hobbit reaching out to him – and had it roughly knocked aside by the malachite eyed Hobbit and _glared_ at.

"I could ask you the same thing you smoke-addled antique!" he flared as he climbed to his feet, shifting Bilbo behind him and glaring at the Wizard who shifted backwards, remembering how long ago this lad (or was it lass? No, his memory must be playing tricks on him) this _lad_ would fight tooth and nail to defend his friend. It was nice to see that nothing had changed. On the other hand -

"S-smoke addled - " he spluttered in offence.

"What the _hell_ are all these Dwarves doing in our home?" the citrine haired Hobbit demanded harshly, voice rough and rasping with the grip that Thorin had held it in – the pale flesh of the boy's throat darkening. There would be a bruise come morning.

Bilbo grabbed Willowyn's sleeve, "Calm down Owyn," he soothed tiredly, "Gandalf just... he wished for me to take part in an adventure. I've already turned him down," he assured her. He had forgotten how protective she could be of him, it had been some time since she punched Otho Sackville-Baggins on his behalf when they were children (an act which had her thrown out of her father's home), now the sour boy had gone and married that shrew Lobellia only last year – their attempt to overshadow Bell and Hamfast's wedding that Spring hadn't really worked.

She whipped around to face him, "_Adventure_?" she exclaimed, shocked before scoffing and glaring at Gandalf, "You? You fainted when I introduced you to the _Rangers_! If he thinks I'm going to let him take a doughy potato like you out of the Shire I'll cram that Staff up somewhere singularly unpleasant!"

A snort of laughter was heard amidst the Dwarves.

_**000**_

Thorin refrained from sighing, glancing back at where the wizard had retreated with the pair of Hobbits, the darker haired of the two arguing viciously with the Grey Pilgrim who was looking more and more harassed with every word. Anyone with any experience with wizards knew full well that they were a crafty lot who, through trick or by hit, got their way and damn what anyone else had to say on the matter – Gandalf was just one of the more crafty and obstinate of his kind. Thank the Valar there were only five of the blasted beings poking their noses in where it ought not belong.

On the other hand, this was his first time seeing Hobbits. They were not... He had never seen such creatures before in his life – and nearing two hundred winters in age, there was not much he had _not_ seen. Wizards, dragons, orcs and goblins, Wargs and trolls, even a Balrog looming out of the darkness of Moria as he did battle at the side of his cousin Dain, Sauron's cursed rings, noble eagles in flight, the greatest of Men, and the worst. But Hobbits...

Hobbits were a different story.

Until Gandalf spoke of finding their fourteenth member, he had never heard the term before. Nor even that of 'Halfling'. A glimpse, once or twice, of a being of Dwarvish height in Bree, he had never seen them clearly and merely assumed them to be the children of Men in the half-light of the Prancing Pony. He sorely regretted this ignorance now as his eyes lingered once again on the enchanting pair in the other room. It was not hard to see that others in his company were equally enthralled with the two.

Hair like the finest of curling copper-gold thread, eyes the colour of pale kyanite, delicately pointed ears and generous soft fleshy curves. When Thorin first encountered one Mister Baggins, he had been entirely unprepared and, perhaps, been more than a little condescending in his summation of the being. Afterall, how could such a being be suited for war? And rare was the time when he found himself confronted with something so lovely. Though he preferred the look of facial hair, there was something so completely mesmerising about the ringlets of Mister Baggins' hair and feet, never mind that he had presented himself in such a blatant and provocative fashion. Feet and ankles bared, wearing only a single layer of cloth in a room filled with roving eyes, heedless and confident in himself – or perhaps innocent to it?

He had wondered if all Hobbits were so beautiful. If so, he believed he could understand the fascination Men had with Elves if they looked upon the arrogant self-righteous menaces with the same feeling as he and his company did their Hobbit host.

And then the other Hobbit, Mister Proudfoot, introduced himself so forcefully with both sword and foot, and he found his wondering confirmed. They were.

Malachite eyes filled with the fires of the forge, seething dark citrine curls bound tight by leather cord, a body neither generous nor soft, but more akin to silk over a steel blade. Fili was still massaging his chest where large, powerful feet launched him back, a frown of interested perplexity on his face as he eyed the darker haired Hobbit. Thorin could not blame his nephew for his attention. Dressed more modestly than Mister Baggins, it was the style of clothing that caught the attention of the more experienced in the company – they had seen Men in such clothing before, the Rangers of the North, Dúnadain. Even his weapons were of Ranger make and style, and cared for in the same way at that he realised upon inspecting the blade Fili had picked up.

Eventually, they saw Gandalf throw his hands up and storm off somewhere deeper into the handsome burrow and Mister Baggins quietly exchange some words with Mister Proudfoot who nodded and smiled assuringly, hand reaching out, casually, affectionately, to brush down his arm and push him towards the bedchambers at the back of the dwelling. He then turned and marched over and almost every Dwarf in the room straightened up some.

Those malachite eyes gleamed vivianite in the gloom of the room, the fireplace their only source of light.

"Rare is the time when a Wizard does not get what he wants," the Hobbit stated bluntly to him, "But I am not letting Bilbo go on this adventure, no matter what the Grey Wizard has decided."

"And what are you to him that gives you right to decide such?" demanded a voice amidst the crowd, Gloin, if Thorin was not mistaken.

"He is my dearest friend, and brother in all but blood. Not only that, but he has already refused your invitation of his own volition. However, Gandalf is wily and will try one last time to convince him in some underhanded manner. Wizards are prone to such tactics."

"And what would you have us do?" Thorin questioned shortly, there was little they _could_ do in regards to Mister Baggins if he decided to join their group. Dwalin and Gloin may have had their protests, he wasn't too keen either, but they needed a burglar.

"Take me instead."

"Do you even know what it is we're setting out to do here, laddie?" Balin asked before the rest of the company could start celebrating.

The Hobbit shrugged a shoulder, "You are Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain. It does not take a genius to guess that it would have something to do with Erebor Lost. All this speak of a Burglar just leads one to believe you wish to slip past Smaug, not kill him, or else you would be seeking an Assassin. All the more reason for Bilbo _not_ to be a part of this," he said, voice filled with unyielding iron and eyes hard.

"You'll be our burglar instead?" Ori, the youngest of their group, exclaimed excitedly before his brother Dori could silence him.

"Yes."

"Have you ever stolen anything before?" came the doubtful question from Dwalin.

Malachite eyes drifted far away for a moment and a bitter smile crossed the Hobbit's face, "More than I will ever admit to, and less than you would believe for causes Greater and Lesser than you'd think," he said enigmatically. "May I read your contract?" he asked, holding a hand out. Less reluctant than he had been in regards to Mister Baggins, Balin collected the contract from the table and handed it over, the dark haired Hobbit giving it a quick read through before frowning a little. "If I die in this attempt, but it is still successful, would it be possible for half of my fourteenth to be sent back to Bilbo? God knows he would starve otherwise."

Balin hummed and glanced to Thorin who nodded, it was reasonable enough, they had already made such provisions in case Gloin passed – half of his fortune would be passed to his wife and son. The same for any of them, should they pass, their fourteenth's would be passed to the nearest family member not partaking in the adventure (with the exception of Thorin's, that would be returned to Erebor instead of sent to his sister Dis or his cousin Dain), if that wasn't possible, their cut would be put back into the rebuilding of Erebor and Dale.

The Hobbit handed the contract back, "In writing please."

There was a little huffing and puffing and some grumbles about lack of trust (all done without feeling, few in number were the dwarves who did not appreciate a good contract) but the extra information was added and with a flat nod, the Hobbit signed and handed it back. Balin checking it for all of a heartbeat, his eyebrow arching as he glanced over at the Hobbit who stared back at him stonily.

"It's all in order," he assured them before stowing the contract away.

"Very well. We leave at first light, be ready," Thorin commanded his newest addition.

For better or worse, they had their Burglar.

_**000**_

**Yep. Hobbits are to Dwarves what Elves are to Men. XDDD The fact they're ****shorter**** than Dwarves really helps. Also, before people jump on me about Dwarves and homosexuality, only a third of the Dwarvish population is female, and they do NOT have more than one partner. Once a female has decided on her male, that's it, she won't choose another, cannot choose another. If he refuses her, she never marries, never chooses another male. And they cannot be forced to marry or love another. Females are considered the true treasures of the Dwarven race, they're kept cloistered away and safe. This will be explained in story but I want my reasoning to be clear. **

**With female dwarves only ever choosing one male, nothing is said about males though, unlike the elves (homosexuality in elves, male and female, has been explicitly stated at some point to be impossible, it just doesn't happen in elves. Nothing said about any other race to my knowledge though). **

**So with a third of the population only picking one guy, and they can say no. Meaning that there's a third and a bit without a partner. I can easily imagine that male dwarves have a much reduced sex-drive compared to others, and see no taboo in male/male physical relationships for those who can't ignore the itch when it occurs.**


	3. Forsaken

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER TWO – Forsaken**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**Packing for a long journey wasn't something Willowyn had done before, but she found it not so different from her usual routine.** Always the pragmatic, she opted for ease of transport and multi-functionality in the same way that Marianne, one of the female Rangers she had befriended, had taught her. A heavy waterproof woollen hood cloak lined with rabbit fur that she would wear, a tightly folded oilskin into which she wrapped her tinderbox (wrapped again in grease paper so as to ensure it remained dry), and medical supplies (also wrapped in grease paper), a whetstone on the offchance she couldn't find any near to hand, rope, a clean change of clothing (three sets of underwear because hygiene), some coin, and dried provisions that she kept stored in her room that the Dwarves had been unable to find – hidden as they were. That was her bag sorted. Setting it beside her bedroom door, she ducked under her bed and wedged open the floorboards with a loud crack, inside, she withdrew the gifts from Halbarad, Baradal, Marianne, Anayla, Earad, Waradal, and Aragol.

A wrapped strip of leather, crammed with weapons.

She heard a lot whistle from her door and glanced up briefly to see the blond Dwarf who twisted her blade from her hand, "Those are some mighty fine blades," he observed, lingering outside the door politely. "Fili, at yer service, M'lady," he greeted with a bow.

She frowned at him and stalked over, taking her sword, "Willowyn Proudfoot. Call me Owyn. I would prefer to keep my gender quiet," she stated coolly as she sheathed the sword.

"My apologies, Mi-ster Proudfoot," the Dwarf corrected at the last moment as malachite coloured eyes snapped to his face warningly. "May I ask why though? The others are honourable Dwarves, they would not think to attempt improprieties," he told her seriously.

"A personal preference, and a desire for equality, Master Dwarf. I do not know how females are treated in your culture and would not like to invite trouble or coddling," she stated flatly as she returned to the collection of weapons laid out across her bed. He shifted uncertainly on how to respond to that feeling a little uncomfortable left in the doorway but unwilling to step in without her permission – and a little guilty because the maps they had gathered earlier had been from this room, entered and pillaged without permission, believed to be a guest room. He watched as the lass belted herself into a harness and began to sheath her various blades in place, she was almost packing as much iron as he himself, though not as good a quality being Ranger weaponry instead of Dwarvish (and that wasn't just Dwarvish pride speaking).

"I need to go and inform the Rangers of my leaving, they'll have to take my patrol routes. I will be back in time for first light but if I'm not, carry on without me. I will catch up," she told him as she shrugged into a black coat, belted it shut and then belted her twin blades over it, her bag went next and over it her hooded cloak. Looking at her dressed like that, no one would think her a Hobbit, or female, he added mentally, eyes lingering on the bound chest he had felt under palm not too long ago.

"We'll be setting out from the pub in the town square. I could go with - " he cut himself off when she turned a glare onto him.

"I am sure I will be fine, Master Dwarf," she bit out.

"Are you sure? Roads can be dangerous at this time of night," he pointed out grimly. The female bristled in offence and Fili winced. Oops. "I didn't mean it like - "

"Like what? Like you didn't think I was capable of going somewhere alone, or that it was too dangerous for me to wander after dark, or that I would somehow get so caught up doing something else that I would forget about the contract I signed to save my friend's life?" she asked coolly, her voice deceptively light.

"No! Nothing of the sort!" he spluttered quickly, holding his hands up. "Lot of places we've travelled through haven't been the safest, I just – better to go in a group so trouble would avoid us."

She stepped up to him, face to face, "Let me make one thing clear, Master Dwarf," she said softly. "I do not need an escort in my own village. The Shire is not the Wild-lands nor the villages of Man. I do not need my hand held, nor someone to be my shield. I have taken care of myself and I will continue to do so. I will not be coddled on this venture. Do remember that we are not friends. The only friends I have can be counted on both hands with fingers to spare. I will be honest, Master Dwarf, do not trust you, your company, your wizard, nor your quest. Your intentions are noble, and I respect them. You are going to reclaim your home. However, I am going to _protect_ mine." At his look of stung confusion she gestured around them, "A hole is a hole, I can dig another. I cannot get another Bilbo Baggins. _He_ is my home. I go to protect him because he cannot fight, cannot survive in the wild. I am going so your Wizard does not trick him into doing so. This is a job, and nothing more. One that I will see through to the end until your mountain is yours, or there is no one left to claim it."

"I... I did not mean to cause offence," Fili managed to get out and for a moment her expression remained cold and stony, she relaxed and her frown smoothed away.

She sighed, "Do not apologise, Master Dwarf. I am at fault. My temper runs away with me. I do not trust easily." She ran a hand through her hair and pulled at her braid before nodding, "I will see you in the morning, Master Dwarf."

"Fili," he said, making the female blink up at him. He grinned roguishly. "Call me Fili."

She snorted, but didn't answer as she brushed past him and down the hallway. Well, as stand-offish and distrustful as she was... She was not as bad as Fili had been fearing. Apparently they would just have to work at gaining her trust. Just as much as she would have to work to gain theirs (especially Uncle Thorin's).

Huffing a little in amusement, he moved off to see if he couldn't get his hands on a little more to eat as he heard the front door close behind her.

_**000**_

Saying goodbye to the Rangers was both heartbreaking and exasperating. Having to talk Halbarad away from marching down to Gandalf and the rest of the Company and giving them stern instructions on her care was one thing, thankfully he hadn't seen the no doubt magnificent bruise that decorated her throat otherwise it wouldn't have been _words_ he had to give them, but having to fend off a gruff, overly anxious Baradal from overburdening her with this and that, which she absolutely must need because what if this happened, or that, or Valar only knew, was another! Marianne and Anayla were utterly useless, both laughing too hard at her fending off Baradal to help – though Anayla later handed her a pair of jars, dried Athelas/Kingsfoil in one, and another jar of herbal tea. Made out of a few named and unnamed herbs, it would stop her menstruation cycle, thus prevent unpleasant hygiene issues and toilet problems while travelling with a large group of males. Willowyn hugged her hard enough to leave bruises for that.

She collected her bow and quiver from Aragol, it had cracked on her some three weeks ago and he had offered to make her a new one in exchange for some of her jam preserves. Several jars of raspberry, blackberry, blackcurrent, lemon, apple, mint, and strawberry jam later, he told her it was finished and she just had to come and pick it up. She had intended on doing so tomorrow evening before she did patrol in the Eastfarthing Woods, but clearly plans change. The draw was a little stronger than she was comfortable with but not impossible for one of her strength, it was designed to be a little sturdier too, Aragol had even placed carvings of willow-fronds across the wood, intertwined with the elvish script for strength, speed, flight, and protection. She didn't know what it would bring to her weapon, but she appreciated it all the same.

The sky was beginning to green when she bid them goodbye and left to rejoin the Dwarves, they would apparently be setting out from the Green Dragon on pony-back. She stopped off at Bag End briefly to double check on Bilbo. She found him sleeping soundly on his bed and huffed a soft laugh at finding him fully dressed, sleeping atop the covers and set him to rights and neatly tucked in. She drew the curtains, and checked the other rooms, making sure to lock hers and deal with the deer buck she had caught the night before – leaving it to hang in the larder with the throat slit and the washing bucket under it. Everything else... Well, the Dwarves had cleaned up after themselves, that deserved some gratitude she decided. Though when she found Gandalf she was going to wring his neck she decided upon spotting a contract on the table, a contract conspicuously lacking the signature of a burglar. She threw it into the fire. In its place, she wrote a letter of her own to her dearest friend and left the house with one last fond look.

She arrived at the Green Dragon just as the group were mounting.

"Did you say your goodbyes?" the leader of the group, the grumpy dark haired Dwarf King, Thorin, demanded sharply as she arrived.

"Yes. Halbarad wanted me to warn you that there's been suspicious movement on the Great East Road though, increased Orc activity, and one of the farmers that he was friendly with got raided not far from Rivendell by something a lot bigger," she explained as the elderly Balin led a pretty dark brown pony to her. She nodded her thanks and easily saddled up. As if Halbarad or Baradal would let her go without learning to ride – she had even been placed on a warhorse and found it quite agreeable, though she was told she looked comical sat astride a beast whose head was almost as big as she was (she quite liked horses and ponies). The one skill they had been unable to get her to partake in was swimming or sailing. Intellectually she knew there was nothing wrong with deep water, but everything hobbitish within her baulked at the idea of the suffocating depths. She bit Halbarad and kicked Aragol in the fork of the legs before scampering up a tree the last time they attempted to teach her how to swim. It had taken three hours of Anayla and Marianne soothing her before they could coax her down out of the thin twigs that hadn't a hope of holding Mannish, or even elvish weight upon them.

Gandalf frowned, "Bigger than Orcs?" he echoed grimly from his horse.

She nodded as she tugged her cloak into a more comfortable position, "He wasn't certain as the rain had washed the tracks away, but he was concerned about Wargs. Their fur was clumped on the gorse near-by. Judging by their movements, he thought they were heading here, or perhaps to the Blue Mountains further East," she explained, "He's called for further support from the other Ranger Patrols near-by and even forwarded word to Rivendell, they won't get any closer than Bree if he has anything to say about it," she promised upon catching some of the grim looks exchanged between the company members.

"Ears and eyes peeled then. We move quickly and quietly," Thorin declared, glancing between them before spurring his pony onwards. Gandalf huffing a little in anxiousness but readily following along after the Dwarvish king.

Willowyn gently nudged her gelding onwards, falling into pace with Balin who, thus far, seemed to be the most learned/experienced of the Dwarves she had spoken to. She had some questions she wanted answering.

_**000**_

By Hobbit standards, some would have called her treatment of the Dwarves as cold, and callous. She preferred to call is self-preserving. Oh she tried to maintain a civil tongue, she knew they came from a different culture so some of the things they did and said, while terribly rude and insulting to Hobbits, were not meant with any kind of malice. But still, she held herself apart from them in the following days as they rode East.

If her own people found her so abhorrent that they would throw her aside at the drop of a hat for being unlady-like, she did not want to know how weapon wielding Dwarves would react to learning that her sexual organs were internal. For all she knew they had some very definite ideas on the roles of women, and given the nature of their society and how so very, _very_ few had ever even _seen_ a Dwarf maid, it was not too far beyond the realm of consideration that they were strictly relegated to the hearth and home with horrific punishments for any who should step outside that role. Halbarad had told her horror stories of some rural communities out to the far West, beyond the Sea of Rhun, would stone a woman to death for speaking out of turn, or even walking with her hair uncovered, never mind of wearing mens' clothing and taking up weapons. Fili seemed to be at ease with her gender, though she had noticed him treat her with a great deal more consideration than his companions with the exception of his younger brother, Kili, and the youngest of the group, red headed Ori who was warmed with a sling-shot of all useless weapons (A sling would have been better, find him a good few solid stones and he could break a number of bones if his aim was good – she had seen Anayla break the jaw of an Orc using a sling and a riverstone). But still, they were _young_ Dwarves, and judging by Kili's lack of beard, and Fili's brightly coloured clothing, probably not very conservative in terms of upholding the traditions.

So, no, she did not know how these beings would treat her if they knew of her true gender. She did not know how they would treat her fullstop. Nor what would await her once this journey was over.

She had signed a piece of paper, but what was to stop them from killing her once her part was done and they had what they wanted? It would be their word and no witness to say otherwise. They could just shred the paper, burn it, and kick her aside once her work was done. It was just paper and honour. If they had no honour, they had no problem lying. Her position was precarious. Add to that, she wasn't a Dwarf, so why would they care?

She could try to befriend them, but that way... that way could lead to even more heartbreak should one or more of them to die on this hairbrained quest against a _dragon_. And when that happened, she would be left once again with the lives of people she once held dear and now lost heavy on her heart.

She would protect her heart from that pain. The pain of betrayal, the pain of loss. The heart she inherited from Harry was a fragile thing that loved strongly and deeply, and bled and hurt so very much when hurt.

She could handle frosty disapproval, lack of trust, even disgust. But only from strangers and acquaintances. Never from friends.

Her father's behaviour, the way he threw her out after the death of her mother, it had broken her heart almost beyond repair. For months she hid within the woods, slowly starving and freezing as winter closed in and food that she could forage with her limited knowledge at fifteen years old began to run out. If Bilbo hadn't found her and taken her in...

She carefully unclenched her hands from her reigns before she popped a knuckle out with the force of her grip.

If not for Bilbo, she probably would have either starved to death, been clapped in irons for theft by the Thain (Grand Uncle once removed or not), or walked out of the Shire and met her death on the roads, or worse.

Speaking with Balin, she learned of Smaug, the fire drake from the North, an intelligent dragon who coveted gold with a dark desire. Some hundred and seventy years ago breaking into the Dwarvish fortress of Erebor, driving their people out, torching the Mannish settlement of Dale as he passed. He spoke of the Elves of the Greenwood (which now she believed was being called Mirkwood), and how the King Thandruil refused to risk his people against the wrath of the dragon, nor lend aid to the displaced Dwarves, not even to help them in their escape, or the putting out of fires. Her muttered comment about how he sounded like a large rancid Orc phallus set the aged Dwarf to roaring with laughter hard enough that he needed to wipe moisture from his eyes, and drew stares from the rest of the company as she flushed a little in embarrassed pleasure, despite her better judgement – only the Rangers had ever laughed at her jokes before, even if this was less a joke and more of a biting observation. He told her about the brief war to reclaim Moria, how they allied with Thorin's cousin Dain to do battle with the Goblin and Orc hordes under the command of Sauron's legionnaire commander, Azog the Defiler. A pale orc, known for riding astride a white Warg.

She shifted with a frown at that.

Halbarad had spoken in hushed, anxious tones about the Warg fur he found. How some of it was white. And whether or not that meant there were Moon bred Gundabad Wargs roaming the lands – the largest, most intelligent and aggressive of all Warg breeds. Difficult to breed, even harder to tame and turn into mounts. They were near enough a signature of an Orc commander in the dark days past.

He told her the tale of how Azog the Defiler beheaded King Thror of Erebor, Thorin's grandfather, who had recklessly journeyed to Moria alone, save for a single friend who would later return with the news of his demise, and how his father, Thrain, demanded retribution. Summoning the armies of the Dwarves to march on the halls of Moria, where Thorin would lose both his father, and his younger brother, Frerin, who was too young, really, to have even set foot onto the battlefield (not that he was much better, also being underage. And from what Willowyn knew of Dwarves, compared to Men, when they came of age at 65 winters, it was akin to that of sixteen in the Age of Men, thirty-three for Hobbits, and fifty for elves. Thorin was roughly just under sixteen in Dwarvish terms when he lost his younger brother, his grandfather, and his father). In the battle, he and his cousin Dain would confront Azog the Defiler. Balin told her the tale of how the leader of their company gained the title of Oakenshield, and how when the battle was won, the Orcs and goblins driven back, Dain looked upon the halls of Moria and closed the doors behind them, declaring that the ancient chambers were beyond the reach of the Dwarves this day. A wise decision with their dead beyond the count of grief. So many dead, young and old.

It was a quiet and contemplative Hobbit who bedded down that night, using her pony's saddle as a pillow, wrapped up in her cloak for warmth, the snoring of Bombur a distant but strangely familiar background music that reminded her of her father, in the years before he cast her out and more pleasantly of a red headed brother with an appetite not unlike the cook.

_**000**_

"So," Fili, the blond Dwarf, asked as he pulled up along side her, the group slowly plodding their way past the Midgewater Marshes on the dry road. They'd been on the road some two days now, having by-passed Bree entirely, deciding not to waste their time or their coin by stopping off – even amidst Bombur and Gloin's noisy complaints about desiring a pint down at the Prancing Pony. Thorin wouldn't risk it though, he seemed to get tenser the closer they came to Bree, and now they that were moving away, he was hyper-alert to pursuers. It was making her twitchy. Twitchy enough that she glared at the blond dwarf for speaking to her while she was so clearly trying to listen for trouble. "If you're our Burglar, just what have you stolen before? You said it was a fair few things."

Now, wasn't that a loaded question.

Almost without thinking, her hand lifted to the necklace about her throat. Her's by right, withheld by her father as he felt she didn't deserve it. But she wasn't about to let him keep the one piece of her mother that her mother had _given_ to her by her own hand.

Fili arched an eyebrow at the motion. A fiery red stone set in delicate silver, tied to a rough leather strip around her neck, clearly cherished, and, apparently, stolen judging by her action when he asked what she had taken before in her life.

"Isn't that a bit of a personal question, Master Dwarf?" she asked instead.

He hummed, shaking his head as he looked away, "Just professional curiosity, Mister Proudfoot. And I told you to call me Fili" he reminded her firmly.

They rode in silence for a bit, but Fili was patient, he had more than enough experience waiting out both Kili and Uncle Thorin's bad-tempers and sulks. He could see in the corner of his eye the young woman thinking, her fingers gently caressing the precious necklace.

"Food, mainly, when my father threw me out," she admitted, making Fili freeze in his saddle, hands spasming on his reigns, "he also took my mother's necklace. So I stole it back one afternoon." So, it was her mother's, and it was something her _father_ had tried to keep for his own. Fury burned in the pit of his stomach.

For Dwarves, women were the _true_ treasures of their Halls. With only one third of their population as female, it was only right and proper to protect and cloister them so. A woman's father would guard her with all the ferocity of a Dragon, her brothers doing the same, they were the future of the Dwarven race, precious jewels beyond compare. A Dwarven woman will choose only one male in her life, only one, she cannot be forced to marry, and once she has chosen her male, her One, if he refuses her, then she will never wed, and none may or would speak ill of her for that. Once married, her husband and his brothers would take the role of her protection as she carried her first child, kept sequestered and protected in her delicate state as pregnancy amongst Dwarves lasted for almost four years. After that, would be a period of purity where husband and wife wouldn't have sexual relations. It was why almost every single one of them had an age difference of nine years between them with the exception of Uncle Thorin and his younger brother Frerin, who stood apart at only six. He was older than Kili by nine years. Their mother was younger than Uncle Frerin by nine years, Balin was older by nine years to Dwalin, the same was true of Dori, Nori, and Ori. That their Burglar would be cast out by her own father, forced to steal food, even a trinket of her own mother's, was not only shocking, but also repugnant and so beyond outraging that he had to take several deep breaths to calm his temper. No wonder she was so wary of how Dwarves would treat their women if _that_ was the disgusting behaviour she was forced to deal with!

She chuckled, not noticing his anger, "Stole some gold from the Goblins once too, and unleashed one of their tunnel guardians. It trashed the whole cavern before running off. We rode it out and half way across the country before it flung us off in a lake," she reminisced fondly, a smile curling on her face.

"We? You weren't alone?" he asked curiously and a little anxiously (who would allow a female on such a terrib- what was he thinking? Hobbits clearly had no care for their females!), and watched her expression shutter painfully.

"No. I wasn't," she stated coldly.

He wanted to ask what happened, but from her tone alone, he could tell that he was best leaving _that_ particular wound alone.

"What's that made of anyway? I can see it set in silver, but the stone isn't one I've seen before," he said instead.

Her fingers brushed the stone again, tilting it so it caught the light. Deep ruby and garnet reds glowed dimly in the depths of the gem. He would have thought it one of the rare red Diamonds they stumbled upon once in a blue moon in the Blue Mountains, but the cut was wrong and it did not refract light in the same manner.

"Red Zircon Diamond. We call it the Rose Gem," she explained quietly, "It was my father's gift to her, my mother, when they were still Courting. He said it reminded him of her hair." She then tucked it back within the collar of her shirt.

"What happened to her?" he asked, before wincing a little as soon as the question passed his lips. It was rather obvious she was no longer amongst the living.

"She died. Not long before my twelfth year. She had a frail body. My birth only made her weaker still. Father blamed me," she stated flatly before urging her horse onwards to pull up beside Dwalin who would, at least, not try to bother her with conversation. The two merely sitting in silence as they travelled, having no want or desire to get to know one another, and oddly enough finding mute companionship in that simple understanding.

_**000**_

It was a ruined farmhouse. Half-burnt, entirely destroyed. She ignored Thorin and Gandalf arguing in the main building as she stepped around, eyeing the bushes near-by. Already the ruins had begun to be reclaimed by nature, but there was enough for her to recognise what she was looking upon, even if she had never been here herself.

This was the home of Halbarad's friend. The farmer who had gone missing.

She approached the gorse bushes, ignoring the snarl of Gandalf as he stormed off and Thorin's surly countenance as he observed them all. True it was a little much to expect to find anything after an entire month but... still...

She carefully pushed aside thorny leaves and twigs to – there...

Reaching in, she tugged and gently lifted her prize from the gorse thicket. Rubbing it thoughtfully between her fingers. It was coarser than she thought it would be. But not white like Halbarad had been worried about. Maybe she was wrong and it was just a clump of fur from some local wild-life? There were plenty of rabbit leavings in the area. It didn't feel like rabbit fur though.

"Owyn? What have ya got there?" Bofur asked.

She twitched and debated for all of a heartbeat, should she remind – no. She dropped the fur and turned to rejoin them, "Just some fur," she stated as she took the packs Dwalin handed her without so much as a by-your-leave. She put the idea of Wargs from her mind, they would have been long gone if they had passed through here.

Besides, she had already warned them about what happened, and the Orc activity the Rangers had experienced on this road. There was not much else she could do.

_**000**_

Gandalf had left a good while ago, and as annoyed with him as she was for trying to trick Bilbo, Willowyn couldn't stop herself from feeling concerned as she perched atop the nearest large rock formation, her eyes peeled on the path in front of them, her ears pricked for any sound that wasn't noisy Dwarves scoffing thick meat stew behind her.

"Owyn, come get yerself some food, lad, 'fore Bombur empties the pot!" Bofur called, slapping his little brother's hands away from the pot. Perhaps he had been a bit _too_ generous in caring for his little brother, often allowing him as much food as he could while going hungry himself in those displaced years where the Dwarves of Erebor wondered the lands, both he and his brother had been born on the road and in the villages of Man where there was little pity for hungry Dwarflings without a mother (disease, plague, or hunger, Bofur couldn't remember what snuffed the fire of her Forge and left her so cold within her bed, her fingers and arms black with sickness). The lad was now twice his width around the middle and almost constantly hungry. Little sneak trying to get an extra finger of sauce or sausage whenever he could.

He watched as their burglar slipped down from his rock with all the grace of an elf to rejoin them on silent feet, "Thank you," he intoned politely as a wooden bowl was presented to him.

"When you get a chance, could you take some up to the boys? Fili and Kili're guardin' the horses," the dark haired Dwarf requested as their Hobbit chowed down on the still hot meal just like the rest of them, only much quieter. He wondered what kind of life the lad had led in that cosy little green land that made him so silent on his feet, and able to eat whatever they placed in front of him. Even Gloin had nearly turned his nose away from the rat stew of yester-week while the Hobbit ate it just as easily as everything else Bofur and Bombur had cooked up for the group (there was an alarming lack of rabbits and birds in the Midgewater Marsh, but plenty of rats).

The lad nodded as he chewed on the chunks of rather old potato Bofur had found lurking within the bottom of his pack – they had sprouted quite nicely in the darkness. But alas, they were to be eaten before ever growing and making little potatoes of their own.

Their burglar finished up surprisingly quickly, and eyed the pot briefly. Personally, if the lad asked, he would have no problem refilling that bowl. He looked alarmingly thin compared to every other Hobbit they'd come across thus far (Mister Baggins, the chaps in the Green Dragon, even that friendly lass who gave them directions from her front garden, now she had been a pretty thing). But he didn't. So Bofur loaded the lad up with stew for Fili and Kili and sent him on his way.

Treading silently through the undergrowth, bowls in hand, Willow made her way to the make-shift paddock they'd tied the horses in. Fili and Kili stood watching them diligently as she arrived.

"Here, hot stew fresh from the pot," she said holding the bowls out to them as she slipped between them. Only they didn't answer. She paused and glanced between them before looking forward.

"...Where are Daisy and Bungo?" she asked flatly.

"And therein, lies our problem," Fili stated unhappily.

With a huff, she set the bowls down and moved forward into the paddock, "The ponies aren't overly distressed, couldn't have been Orcs or Wargs or they'd be gone or in pieces," she surmised easily, running a hand down the muzzle of Ori's pony briefly. She paused when she saw the uprooted tree, "Forget Orcs. You'd need something a lot... bigger..." Bigger like whatever had killed the farmer.

She cast around the ground for tracks.

Wargs had the strength to _knock down_ large trees, but they left distinctive marks on the bark. The trees were unharmed save for large blunt impact. Something a lot _bigger_ and _stronger_ than a Warg took them down. Something like -

She froze, staring down at the large print on front of her, neatly outlined in the mud, she would have never seen it if not for the trees shifting in the wind overheard, the moonlight giving her just enough ambient light to make out the shape and depth.

"Hey, there's a light," Fili whispered, crouching in the undergrowth, squinting at the distant orange glow.

She hissed and dashed after them, "Stop! Stop, don't!" she hissed catching the back of Kili's jacket and pulling him back. "Do you want to get on the wrong side of a Troll?" she whispered sharply in his ear.

"Troll?" Fili echoed softly, in front of them, crouched behind a three.

Trees crashed down up ahead coupled with the sound of Myrtle and Minty whinnying in distress, making the three of them go very, very still as a large grey skinned troll crashed past with two _more_ of their ponies under arm, crashing carelessly through the undergrowth. The ponies were braying and whinnying as loudly as they could, legs thrashing, their eyes rolling madly as their mouths foamed in distress at the presence of the huge creature so carelessly and roughly carrying them. No doubt he didn't smell trustworthy either.

She growled under her breath, "That's four," she whispered.

The dwarves stared ahead, scowling in thought and indecision.

Willow let the younger of the two go and got to her feet, "Kili, go back to the camp and tell the others about the Trolls. Fili, I need you to stay hidden and be ready to lead the ponies back," she whispered as she shrugged out of her long cloak and draped it over a near-by branch.

"What? No!" Fili hissed just as Kili went, "That's a great idea!" with all enthusiasm. The two brothers exchanged looks, Kili of surprise, Fili of reproach.

"Owyn, it's too dangerous!" Fili whispered sharply.

She gave him a Look. The same one she gave Hamfast when he asked her if his relationship with Bilbo bothered her in anyway (it had a little since he was engaged at the time, but she knew that the Spring Hamfast married Bell was also the Spring when he and Bilbo had dropped their relationship. It was acceptable to have relations while engaged, but while married? Totally unforgivable). The look that told the recipient it was bestowed upon that they were a moron.

"So a dragon is fine but a troll is too dangerous?" she asked lightly, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

Fili's mouth opened soundlessly, unable to formulate a response to that. Which was all the opening she needed to slip off into the undergrowth with every ounce of Hobbit discretion and Ranger stealth she possessed.

"Where did he go?" Kili whispered as the undergrowth seemed to just... swallow their burglar and hide him from view.

Apparently she was a lot better at this than she thought she was.

Paying absolutely _no_ mind to the conversation between the three trolls, she crept to the rough paddock, Myrtle, Minty, Daisy, and Bungo settling down as she slithered through the wooden slats and whispered softly to them in Elvish. Shifting as soon as the youngest seeming Troll turned around, to hide behind the four. He didn't notice, what with her dark clothing and the deep black shadows in the firelight.

Pulling one of her sharper blades, she slid her blade through the ropes of the paddock. They were aged though, it took some sawing before the strands finally frayed away under the edge.

She swallowed tightly, glancing over to the Trolls again as she shifted to cut the last rope, shifting herself yet again so she was half hidden behind a post and a bush.

The last rope broke under her blade and and sheathed it without even a whisper of metal, the ponies whinnying softly. Thankfully the trolls didn't seem inclined to notice as she whispered more words of Elvish to them.

Her eyes flickering in concern to the trolls she began to lead the four away, pausing briefly to pick up a fist sized rock. A rock which she hefted and then _launched_ away from herself to the far side of the campsite away from them – behind the largest of them that had carried the ponies over. The three turned suddenly and she slipped away, the ponies following after her.

"Must've been a Squirr- WHERE'RE THEM NAGS GONE!" she heard the trolls roar behind her in fury, and grinned quietly to herself as she gently herded them back to the paddock.

Right until they heard the trolls rampaging behind them.

Then whatever control the kind Elvish words left on their ears shattered like so much poorly made glass, and with brays of terror, the four of them reared, nearly kicking her in the head, and bolted.

She cursed under her breath, hoping that Fili had done as she asked and was ready for them.

"Whoa!" Was that -

"BERT! BERT! I FOUND A DWARF!"

"Where is he!" Kili shouted and suddenly there was the distinct sound of Dwarves bellowing and running into combat.

Voices shouting, grunts of effort, clanking armour, Trollish howls of pain – she could hear the youngest squealing repeatedly. She huffed. She wasn't there to fight. She had done her job. She had to go and get the ponies before they bolted too far away. She ignored the combat and made her way after the ponies.

"ORI!"

"LAY DOWN YER ARMS! OR WE'LL WIP 'IS OFF!"

Fuck.

Gritting her teeth in frustration, the sounds of fighting went silent behind her.

Could she not leave them alone for _five_ minutes?

Creeping back to the Trolls' camp, she watched as her companions were bagged and tied in old flour and grain sacks.

What could she...

Indecision churned in her gut as she turned away, leaning against the wood of the tree as the sounds of the dwarves cursing filled her ears, the trolls talking enthusiastically about how to cook them, and how well they were going to be eating tonight.

There was no way they could free themselves. They were going to die! Eaten, by trolls.

Unless... Unless she did something.

But if she did... If she did, she would never be welcome in the Shire again.

Being unlady-like was enough to cost her the love of her father, it gained her the scorn of her entire village and people, even the Tooks and the Brandybucks looked on her as... a bit of a ruffian with her multitude of weaponry and her willingness to throw a punch to defend herself or the honour of a friend. The punch she threw at Otho Sackville-Baggins when he made Bilbo cry had been the final straw between herself and her father at fifteen. It was the reason Bilbo took her in, as he felt it was his fault she was without a home.

If a punch cost her a roof over her head...

What would killing something cost her?

And could she live with herself if she _didn't_?

Well, there was a very easy answer to that she decided, opening eyes that she hadn't realised she'd closed.

'_Sorry Bilbo,_' she told her friend, eyes hard as she stood, turning in one fluid motion lifting bow and arrow, the goose-feather fletching kissing her cheek as she drew back, her gaze narrowing.

And released... _everything_.

Her home, her hopes, her future, Bilbo, Hamfast, Bell, her mother's grave... She released them all along with her arrow.

The youngest Troll screeched as the iron head buried itself in his eye, his mouth opening wide in pain and fear – a breath before two more found their way to the back of his throat.

He fell.

Keeling backwards and going still.

"WILLIAM!" the cook, Bert, roared as his littlest brother died.

A second before Willow landed on his back, her blade tearing through the back of his neck and out through his throat, severing his spinal cord and everything on the left side of his neck as she roughly wrenched it out as she swung over his shoulder to land, light as a cat, on the ground and sprint away into the undergrowth as the last Troll, Tom, began to scream and chase her.

The dwarves stared. Half in sacks, the other half strapped to a log that had yet to be placed over the campfire.

They could hear the troll crashing around in the trees even as Willow streaked back into the camp, finger over her lips to silence them as she grabbed a pair of her blades and handed them to Dwalin and Gloin, the pair tied to the log closest to her.

"Cut everyone out while I lead him away," she whispered before turning around and racing back towards where the troll was crashing around once again.

"...By my beard," Oin croaked in disbelief.

_**000**_

Tricking the grief enraged troll to rampage after her was an easy task. She didn't even have to wait long before Dawn broke the horizon and the second he thoughtlessly followed her into a small clearing – the audible cracks and grinding of stone told her everything she needed to hear as she skidded to a stop and took a breath. She hadn't thought he would do that. Merely hoped to keep him occupied long enough for Gloin and Dwalin to cut everyone free so she could give him the slip and get back to them.

Swiping a strand of hair from her sweaty brow, she wearily made her way back to the group, a numb feeling filling her. She stopped. Staring at one of the fallen logs, feeling something hot on her cheeks.

Frowning in confusion, she reached up and touched her face. Her fingers were wet.

Was she crying?

Well... traumatic experience aside, getting chased by a troll had her heart lodged somewhere firmly in her throat and left her feet itching to run like the deer of the Shire and put as much distance between them as possible, but she had to go slow, keep the object of his rage in sight so as to keep him far away from the helpless Dwa- ah.

That was why.

She had forsaken the Shire for them. Forsaken Bilbo in order to save their lives.

They would never let her return now that she had killed.

She leaned helplessly against one of the tree trunks and for a moment, allowed the tears to come in silence.

She wept for the home she lost and the friend she would never see. Better he thought her long dead than a murderer. She wouldn't be returning to the Shire, nor even to Bree. There was only one other Hobbit murderer in their History, his name lost to time and retellings, but what they did know was that he was the reason their traditions had been changed. That is was now better to _give_ than to receive. He had been driven out for killing his brother, for striking him, strangling him, and then leaving his body to float down the Brandywine river. He had never seen seen again. And now she had... she had killed...

Well... she dried her tears.

She had always wished to see more of the world but been too reluctant to leave Bilbo to do so, perhaps this was her opportunity? Halbarad would allow her to work with the Rangers, he already said that she merely needed approval from his Elessar before she could officially call herself as such. The world hadn't ended yet, she was alive and well, she had good memories with which to recall her friends with. She may never see them, but they were in her heart. And if his king felt that a Hobbit was not good enough for his forces then... then there was always Bree, wasn't there? And other places. Like Rivendell. She should like to see Rivendell to be honest. And Rohan, for she did like horses and ponies of all sorts. Perhaps she could even see the white city of Gondor and their petrified tree? It wasn't the end of the world.

Or so she told herself as she silently dragged herself back to the Dwarves, not looking any of them in the eye as she came to a stop, and stared down at the two trolls she had murdered. Still fleshy in the morning sunlight, black blood oozing sluggishly into the rich red-brown earth.

Orcs were one thing, they were an acceptable being to kill. Even the Thain had taken one or two orc heads in his time. She herself had killed two in her life while with the Rangers. She wasn't supposed to have, but they stumbled so suddenly and unexpectedly onto the small raiding party that Halbarad had no opportunity to send her back before she was forced to use her dagger/short-sword to defend herself. And a fight was not an easy place to keep an eye on a Hobbit in.

Trolls though. Trolls had families, unlike Orcs. They had a concept of ownership and affection, and clearly loyalty, even if they did eat folk.

These three were brothers. And she'd killed two of them and driven the last mad with grief until she inadvertently turned him to stone.

"Well, here I come, prepared to save the day, and discover someone else has done it first," Gandalf said jovially behind her. "Are you alright, my boy?" he asked gently, assuming that as a Hobbit, the sight of a dead anything that wasn't bound for the dinner table was distressing.

"...Do trolls turn back to flesh when night falls?" she asked softly instead.

Gandalf sighed gravely, "No. Once they have become stone, they are stone through and through. Not even the gaze of a full moon at mid-winter can revert such things," he assured her.

"...oh."

What else could be said?

She had taken three lives tonight.

Brushing past the wizard, she collected her arrows and cleaned them off on the grass before going to get her cloak and bow.

She ignored Kili and Ori as they scrambled over enthusiastically to tell her how amazing she was.

She didn't feel much like celebrating.

_**000**_

**And, just like Harry used to, she's being over-dramatic and pessimistic. Yaaaay! XDDD**


	4. Flight or Fight

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER THREE – Flight and Fight**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**Distantly, she knew she was worrying her companions as she silently brooded and avoided their praise, questions, and pointed looks but right now could not bring herself to care.** Not even a month out of the Shire and she had already committed an act so heinous in their eyes she had effectively exiled herself from those rolling green hills and peaceful sunwashed fields.

All to protect a pack of Dwarves who hadn't the faintest idea of what she had just abandoned for them.

"It is our choices, Harry, that make us who we are. We can choose what is right, or what is easy," she murmured to herself those wise words of a mentor long gone and refrained from sighing as Kili glanced her way in concern for the eighth time since Gandalf took Thorin, Gloin and a few of the others into the rank smelling Trollshall. It wasn't overly annoying, and she didn't blame him for it much. Apart from her brief exchange with Gandalf, she had not uttered a word to anyone, not even Balin or Fili who were immediately swarming her with fussing and concern. They would likely still be doing so if Thorin and Dwalin hadn't snapped at them to get a move on – though Dwalin seemed to be giving her an odd look every now and again as he stood watch over their small group.

How was she to explain this to Bilbo? _Should_ she explain this to Bilbo? Why not... let him think her dead? She brooded, her thoughts running in circles, repeating themselves as she tried to justify them, arguing with herself as she carefully cleaned her blades of troll blood. He would be sad, yes, but only for a time. He would live and carry on and everyone in the Shire would pat him on the shoulder, try to think of something nice to say and end up assuring him that it was only a matter of time before she went off and got herself caught up in something Bigger than she was and suffered for it. He didn't have to worry about her come back to bother him any longer. And Bilbo would puff up and get all stiff backed and tight shouldered and coldly polite, speaking very quickly and sharply, his brows furrowed into a disapproving crease, that rabbit nose of his wrinkling with irritation. She smiled a little sadly as she imagined the dressing down he would give those sticky-beak busybodies, telling them exactly what he thought of their empty and quite frankly rude platitudes about someone they never knew and never cared to know.

"Owyn, my boy," Gandalf called, breaking her out of her maudlin thoughts before she could remind herself that she would never see Bilbo wrinkle his nose like that again, nor puff up like an offended hen and babble scoldingly at the object of his ire too quickly for his words to be understood by any but herself and Hamfast. She turned, spotting the other Dwarves having left the foul smelling cave and were now fussing over the dusty, web covered spoils liberated from within. "Here, this should be about your size," the wizard said, offering her a small dagger. It was surprisingly clean, a quick glance down showed that he had wiped it off on the bottom of his robe.

Curious, she accepted the thing from him, her eyes widened as she felt the weight of it, the way the metal almost felt like fresh water under her hand, cool and smooth and singing. She had only ever touched one blade like this in her life, and that had belonged to Halbarad.

"An elvish blade," she breathed before she had even unsheathed it.

Gandalf seemed surprised but he didn't show it, "Indeed my boy. This particular kind is known to glow when in the presence of Goblins and Orcs. Quite a useful little enchantment," he admitted happily, watching the Hobbit gently unsheath the blade with a look of reverence on her face. A look that shuttered a heartbeat later before the blade was sheathed and held out to him.

"I – I don't think I can accept this Gandalf. Truly, it is much to grand for someone like me," she said softly, her voice rough, "I have plenty of blades as it is."

Gandalf frowned and knelt in front of her, "Whatever is the matter, my child?" he murmured, those unnerving blue eyes gazing deeply into her green, and for some reason, the sight of them made her breath catch and her heart shudder like a bird in a cage. Those eyes. His eyes. The eyes of a mentor long dead, a man she had managed to forgive and love as much as she cursed and hated. A man she had hoped found peace with himself and his choices as much as she hoped he suffered for them.

Some of her tumulus feelings must have showed in her gaze because the wizard gently caught her hands, "Whatever do you mean by one such as yourself?" he urged gently.

She shook her head, "I am a murderer," she choked out, "Orcs are one thing but – they were a family. Trolls and flesh eaters yes, but they _loved_ one another, they were family and I – I murdered them and drove the last mad with grief and led him to his death," she managed to wheeze out, her voice never rising above a whisper. She may have had the memories of a boy hero, a life time of catching the worst criminals, but she had only killed once, and that once was a life demanded by destiny and not taken of her own volition by her hand. Tom Riddle's life was the only one taken by her hand. Until now. In all the wars and conflicts in her life as Harry, never had her hands been stained with the blood of a thinking, feeling, being.

Gandalf gave her hands a squeeze, "Owyn, my boy, you are a _hero_. If you hadn't taken action, Thorin and his company would be dead. You saved them. Yes, at the cost of three lives. But, think of the lives you have saved with your actions. Think of the many more helpless travellers that would have fallen prey to those trolls had you not taken action," he soothed, rubbing a thumb across her knuckles as she searched his gaze for any condemnation, disgust, or blame. She wouldn't find any. He felt nothing but admiration for her strength, and the kind of heart that would feel remorse even for taking the life of a troll.

"That doesn't make it right though," she whispered roughly.

"No," he agreed softly, "But sometimes there is no right choice to be made. Only bad, or worse." And there would be a great deal more of those choices in the future. "But I know I can trust you to know which is which, and act for the best," he assured her, and he meant it too. When they had first set out on this journey he had been doubtful, and so disappointed when Bilbo decided not to show – the ear ringing scolding the dark haired Hobbit gave him about his leaving that contract behind on the sly had answered the question as to why – and watching their burglar hold himself apart from the others, wary and unapproachable, he had thought that disappointment justified. But overhearing his conversation with Fili had given him leeway in Gandalf's eyes. That fool Dodo Proudfoot. Had Gandalf known he would have given that Hobbit such a knock about the head his vision would _still_ be spinning, even now over thirty years later! And then this, such guilt over taking the life of a _troll_ of all beings. Truly, Owyn Proudfoot was not what Gandalf had unkindly first thought him to be. He had err'ed, and most reprehensibly so.

Almost hesitantly, she took the blade.

"Then... I will do my best to be worthy... of that trust," she admitted quietly.

He smiled kindly, "You already have, my boy. You already have," he said as he got to his feet, patting the Hobbit on the head before passing by. The whole exchange going unnoticed by the Dwarves too busy packing up to get moving again.

"Something's coming!" Thorin suddenly called as a flock of birds took off, chirping in distress.

The Dwarves shifted into action, Gandalf calling for them to stay together as Balin suddenly seemed to appear on her otherside and hustle her towards the middle of the group as they began to form up into a protective line. The group moved away from the Trollshall as the rushing and rapid, almost fluttering, thumping sound grew closer.

She gaped as rabbits, the size of dogs, burst out of the bushes, all of them rigged together on a harness attached to a sledge, some madman with eyebrows to put the dwarves to shame yowling about Thieves, Fire, and Murder being pulled along behind them. The crazy man came to a stop, practically gibbering as he looked around their group, Balin shifting in front of her to shield her from view.

"Radagast!" Gandalf exclaimed, was that _relief_ colouring his voice as he put away his sword? She looked between the two sceptically. Well... they _felt_ a little similar, and she supposed the cut of their robes was not unalike. "Radagast the Brown," Gandalf announced to the others, prompting the dwarves to hesitantly sheath their blades.

So he _was_ another wizard. Good to know.

_**000**_

The two wizards had drawn away, discussing something in low swift voices. Whatever the Brown Wizard was jittering about seemed to have Gandalf alternatively dismayed, anxious and doubtful all at the same time.

Until he was handed a wrapped package that looked remarkably like a sword hilt.

She felt a chill in the air for all of a heartbeat and shuddered.

Just as a howl split the air.

That was _not_ a wolf howl. She _knew_ what wolves sounded like!

"Wargs?" she whispered, turning to Bofur as what felt like a cold hand seized her heart. It wasn't even midday! They were tired and stressed from the events of the night before! They couldn't fight Wargs!

A snarl behind them and suddenly Fili had an arm around her waist and wrenched her to one side as the beast lunged overhead, aiming for Nori who jerked out of the way just in time as Thorin's blade found a home in the Warg's flank and brought it down. She pulled herself away from the blond and drew her blade as a second Warg met one of Kili's arrows and Dwalin broke its back with his warhammer.

"Warg scouts," Thorin snarled, finally wrenching his blade free, "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

She took a breath as Gandalf snarled at Thorin. They hadn't had a chance to collect the ponies after last night, they didn't have time to look for them now! They would have to run and hope to hell they made it to somewhere at least mildly defensible before they were run down. She immediately began to pack up, ignoring everything around her as she rolled her heavy cloak, shoved it into her bag, swung it on, tightened her straps and threaded one of her belts through the loops and tied it around her waist. Not comfortable in the least, but it would afford her a little more manoeuvrability and support when carrying the load at speed.

Around her, the other Dwarves seemed to realise what she was doing and followed suit, hastily loading up as the Brown Wizard quickly sketched out a brief plan with Gandalf that would (hopefully) have the orc pack running in circles instead of chasing them. They planned to head east, use the rocky terrain to their advantage and hopefully reach the foot of the mountains that they were so close to where the Wargs couldn't follow – even the Orcs would be hard pressed to follow them on the narrow paths.

She took a breath and strung her bow once again, testing the draw for any issues briefly before swinging it over her shoulder. She had thrown her lot in with these Dwarves. Placed them under her protection. Her gaze hardened as she fell into step behind Thorin and Dwalin as the group stood ready for the wizards' mad plan.

Orcs, luckily enough, she could kill without remorse.

_**000**_

Watching the group of Dwarves try to be stealthy while running was like... well... trying to watch Bilbo not faint while meeting Halbarad. _Painful_. And it would have been amusing under other circumstances.

She now knew why they needed a Burglar.

"You lot could wake the dead," she hissed in disgust as she slipped past Gloin and Dwalin, her toes digging into the tough grasses, hard rock and gritty flinty dirt as she ran on the balls of her feet, easily speeding past the group in silence.

"Not _all_ of us are sneak-thieves," Gloin snarled at her back, offended.

She scoffed but didn't deign reply as she jerked to a stop and grabbed the fiery haired dwarf before he charged out into eye-line of the passing Wargs, Radagast actually doing a fairly good job of distracting them away from the fleeing group – no matter how noisy they were.

"Maybe you should look into it a bit?" she suggested dryly, "If only so you don't sound like a working forge when you run," she quipped, flashing him a smirk before moving away double quicktime when Gandalf ushered them forward.

As the fastest runner, she often ended up ahead of the group pausing behind rock formations and peering out for Orcs, signalling to the rest of the group where they were so they could cross the open stretches without too much unpleasant surprise.

At least until she saw one of them split from the group and cursed, she slipped through the small group up to Thorin and Gandalf, "One of them has split from the group. He's caught our scent," she whispered grimly.

"Where is he?" Thorin hissed, blue eyes flashing.

"Heading our wa-" she heard claws on rock and clamped her mouth shut, lifting a hand to silence them all sharply. The group froze, the sound of claws on stone, low growing and snuffing. They pressed against the rocks.

Thorin craned his head up, getting a better look. There was only one. They could hopefully subdue it without any notice.

He looked over at Kili, meeting his nephew's eyes, and nodded, gesturing with his chin to the creature.

Kili swallowed and took an arrow before turning and swinging his bow up in a single breath.

The arrow took the snarling Warg in the throat, piercing its vocal cords. The second knocked the horn from the Orc's fingers and the third sent the pair crashing down to their level.

Willow hissed, "Shut that beast up, _now_!" she hissed at the group, peering around the edge of an outcropping and blanching.

All the Wargs had stopped. Their riders were turned toward them.

"Start running! Run now! They've found us!" she snarled at the group, "Gandalf! Which way!" she demanded, giving up all pretence of quiet.

"This way! Run!" the old wizard commanded taking off. Willow did not need to be told twice, but her eyes were sharper than both dwarf or wizard.

"They're flanking us!" she called back, unslinging her bow and notching an arrow. She paused for a heartbeat to down one of the Wargs – the more she looked at them, the more she was reminded of a werewolf, but without their sunny disposition.

"We're surrounded!" Kili howled in dismay as they were forced to stop, the Warg riders finally getting ahead and coming to a stop.

"Kili! Shoot them!" Thorin roared, blade drawn.

"Where's Gandalf?" Fili shouted.

"He's abandoned us!" Dwalin spat, hammer gripped tight.

Willow didn't answer, instead she landed another arrow into the eye of a Warg. She hadn't heard the crack of Apparation, but then again, were wizards even able to Apparate in this place? Radagast came flying in on a sledge pulled by rabbits. That wasn't something she had ever considered for a wizard save perhaps Luna Lovegood.

Ori struck one of the beasts in the head with a rock, pissing it off and quickly scrambled behind them – behind _her_! As if she would be better protection compared to his kinsmen as she picked off another two Wargs. (They needed to get him a better weapon before he got himself killed, she decided. A slingshot wasn't going to cut it against orcs or Wargs.)

"Hold your GROUND!" Thorin shouted, hefting his blade grimly.

"This way, you fools!" Gandalf commanded from behind them. Willow didn't turn to look, she shot one of the riders in the head instead before putting a second arrow in his mount.

"Quickly!" Ori gasped, grabbing her pack and pulling her backwards. She allowed the young Dwarf to hustle her backwards but didn't jump into the hole, she hung back, still shooting to give the others cover as they ran.

"Kili!" Thorin roared to his nephew who was still out there shooting.

"Kili! Get your ass over here before I put an arrow in it!" she shouted over the howls.

She cursed, fumbling in her quiver as Fili dove past her, Kili hot on his heels. One arrow left. Which one was the lead-

Thorin pushed her down the hole.

She screamed in terror and surprise, high-pitched, and utterly feminine.

And Fili caught her a heartbeat before the King himself slid in behind her.

She shuddered, heart thundering in her ears as she quickly pulled herself away from the blond to snarl at their King, still visibly shaking. "Do not EVER do that again!" she screeched, taking the male aback for a moment. Still trembling, and chalk white, she whipped around and moved to the back of the cave, tunnel, whatever. Getting shoved backwards without warning into a dark hole that she couldn't see the bottom of – he was lucky she didn't put a knife in him!

A horn split the air and the group froze as Wargs snarled overhead and there was a distinct sound of battle. Willow shook her head and turned, storming off into the tunnel, they weren't going to be climbing out and right now, anywhere far away from those... those... _Dwarves_ was sound more and more pleasurable by the second! Who just shoves someone down a hole backwards without warning? She could have cracked her skull open if Fili hadn't caught her (she would have to thank him somehow)!

"Owyn! Wait!" Bofur called, she didn't, she had to get away from them if only for a moment.

She could hear a few of them grumbling and muttering uncomplimentary things that echoed back to her through the tight chasm but it was no different to what she had been hearing all her life, even if she heard Dwalin roughly snap at Gloin to be quiet.

She burst out into the sunlight and sighed, her bare feet stepping into fresh cold water, a small trickling waterfall, behind her. The others were a good way behind her in the chasm so she wasted no time in cupping a handful of the cold liquid and drinking deep before splashing her face with it. Oh, it felt good. The cold water shocking her system enough to give her some equilibrium after that unpleasant scare. She took a deep breath as she wiped her chin of stray water droplets and sedately wondered to the edge of the passage, a long valley spilling out in front of her in the mid-afternoon sunlight, catching on white arches and turning them to honey gold.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she stared down at the settlement below.

She paid no heed to the dwarves that came out behind her, Dwalin and Bofur shifting to either side of her, their expressions torn between sour (Dwalin) and reluctantly impressed, and annoyed that they were impressed too (Bofur).

"The valley of Imladris," Gandalf announced as he brought up the rear, smiling through his heard at the familiar and much missed settlement. "In the Common Tongue it goes by another name."

Rivendell.

The stories the Rangers had told her about this place. She felt she could walk its halls and know exactly where she was just from those stories alone. It was Marianne's favourite place in the world (and not simply because she was sweet on the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel, formerly of Gondolin, and a soul very much like her own forced to live a second life through the machinations of another. Though he, at least, was allowed to return to a world and a form and a species familiar to him. She had no such comfort).

"Here lies the Last Homely House east of the sea."

Thorin growled low in his throat, like the grinding of rocks together, as he rounded on the wizard, his expression accusing, "This was your plan all along!" he sneered, "To take refuse with our _enemy_!"

Gandalf frowned at him like one would to a particularly disagreeable child, "You have no enemies _here_, Thorin Oakenshield. The only Ill Will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself," he spat scoldingly.

"You think the _elves_ will give our quest their blessing?" he scoffed disbelievingly. "They will try to stop us," he breathed warningly, wound up tighter than a bow-string.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled, "Of course they will," he agreed in a tone that told them, if they cared to listen for it, that just as he had planned to bring them here, he had also planned on _this_ as well. "But we have questions that need to be answered," he explained, almost gently.

It was almost comical to see the Dwarven King shift, almost like a chastised child as he seemingly deflated from his righteous anger. Even his hair seemed less big. Almost.

She was still angry with him.

_**000**_

**And that's it for chapter Three!**

**Before there's comments on Willow's behaviour, try to remember that it is a perfectly natural reaction to getting unexpectedly shoved backwards down a hole where you could break your skull open. And Harry has never been the type to wilt and cringe when scared or upset. **

**Also, her angst about getting kicked out for killing – yeah, Smeagol. True they wouldn't know about it back in the Shire, but, they've known about everything ELSE she's done, she's kind of gotten used to her business being everyone else's business.**


	5. Fury

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER FOUR – Fury**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**There was only one problem she had with Rivendell, she decided as her hand latched onto the leather straps of Dwalin's pack, her eyes fixed straight ahead.**

There was too much water, and all of it was very far _down_.

Thankfully the tattooed Dwarf didn't shake her off, nor comment on her fearful behaviour. Once they were over the bridge, she immediately moved away from the edge and released him, standing to one side as the rest of their group formed up, Bofur sticking close as he fussed with his hat momentarily. Without the long drop to deep water below, she was free to admire the surroundings without feeling her feet tingle or her heart wedging itself firmly in her throat. Rivendell was pretty. It was beautiful awash with golden sunlight, waterfalls and trees that intertwined with the stonework in a way that was neither offensive nor obtrusive. They had managed to blend the natural and the made together in a very pleasant way.

She didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed when it became only too clear that the Dwarves did not agree with her humble assessment.

"Shoddy stonework. That wall'll come down within in the century if that tree widens any further," could be heard from an unimpressed Dori. "Ori, stay away from the arches," he commanded, ushering his youngest brother away from what he deemed to be a health hazard (in fifty years or so).

"How _do_ they stop all the mudslides with this water everywhere?" Bofur complained in discontent, peering over the edge of the platform and making her stomach do a flip of discomfort, "Half the city ought to have slipped right off the mountainside."

"The trees. Their roots stop the soil erosion from being so pronounced," she pointed out quietly. She was no Hamfast, but she was a Hobbit, and they knew plants and all manner of things that grew, as was to be expected from a people created by the Valar, Yavanna, Mother Earth.

Bofur looked surprised, "Truly?" he asked curiously.

She nodded, "Bag-End. The tree on top of the hill. You can see a few of the roots in the hallway. It stops the top-soil from sliding away in the Spring rain and leaving the ceiling open to the elements. There's a reason we cover the whole of the Shire in plants instead of cobblestones even though it would be easier for tradewagons. If we did, our homes would wash away with the spring floods," she explained quietly as she hesitantly edged closer to the lip of the platform. Regular heights she was generally okay with. Halbarad had her scaling the tallest trees in the Shire and the Farthing in order to get something or other. So she was fine with heights. Not so much when there was water at the bottom, she was deathly afraid of deep water, always had been. "Besides, surely the elves use enchantments with their work, yes? To make it lighter and stronger like their swords," she pointed out, tapping the sheathed blade at her hip.

"Hm, never quite thought of it like that," Bofur admitted, rubbing his chin. "Course, it's all for nought when it looks so hideous though, eh?" he asked with a rakish grin.

She couldn't stop herself from snorting, "If you are looking for agreement Master Bofur, look else where. Hobbits like green things that grow," she explained with a laugh.

He chuckled in agreement, "Aye, I can see that. My mistake," he graciously allowed, bowing his head, dark eyes twinkling.

She turned away, suddenly remembering her resolve to keep the group at arms length and took a breath. They were a hard group to hate, when they weren't throwing her down holes and upsetting Bilbo (which she was still, stubbornly, holding a grudge over). Merry despite what life threw at them, brave, gruff in a way that reminded her of old Mad-Eye and oddly enough Aberforth Dumbledore. No, they were a hard group to hate indeed. And try as she might, she had perhaps been starved of kindness for far too long to maintain the distance she wished from them.

"Mithrandir!" greeted a melodic voice causing the group to turn towards the city and the smooth faced elf that came to greet them, practically gliding down the stairs with a delicate smile for the Grey Wizard.

"Ahh, Lindir," he greeted in return.

The elf's face tilted in concern for a moment as he spoke. Her elvish was not as good as she would have liked, but she got the gist of what was said, he had heard that Gandalf was in the area. Which explained why he had come out to greet them. She wasn't very knowledgeable in Big Folk politics, especially elvish, but she had been told that Lord Elrond liked to greet his guests personally and that he was perhaps one of the most polite and wise of all the elves – a halfblood with the good qualities of both, and thankfully none of the bad, the rashness of Men and the apathetic arrogance of the elves. He had apparently been the adoptive father to Halbarad's Elessar, and father to the elf-maiden he had fallen in love with. Lady Arwen, youngest of all the elves, and the most beautiful seen since Elbereth herself. (Though Willow was somewhat at a loss as to who Elbereth was, but she was guessing a figure of legend, or perhaps a princess from the first age with the reverent tone of voice she was spoken of with.)

Gandalf stepped forward, "I must speak with Lord Elrond," he beseeched formally.

Lindir tilted his head in the negative, "M'Lord Elrond is not here," he refused apologetically but firmly. It was one of the rules of Rivendell, none were to enter the city truly without their Lord's approval.

"Not here?" Gandalf echoed, "Where is he?"

Lindir didn't get a chance to answer before a familiar horn split the air, the same horn she had distantly heard while down in the cave tunnel.

Almost as one, the dwarves turned and bristled aggressively, their eyes widening and narrowing as the large war-horses thundered over the bridge towards them. Oh god she was going to throw up. How could they run over that on _horses_! Thorin was shouting something in Dwarvish and suddenly both Bofur and Balin were pulling her into the centre of the Dwarves, crowding her with weapons drawn as the horses finally reached them and began to circle. It was scary. But more in that they were just big and that the Dwarves seemed so uncomfortable, if not downright hostile, with the attention, expecting an attack. That nervous energy even had her hands twitching to her weapons.

The elves drew to a stop, and their weapons remained where they were, sheathed and slung.

The first elf who rode in, on a large black stallion, in decorated armour of silver and dark brown smiled warmly, "Gandalf!" he called, spotting the Wizard stood to one side with Lindir.

Gandalf was smiling in relief, "Lord Elrond," he returned before continuing in Elvish, calling him friend and asking where he had been.

Apparently hunting the selfsame Orcs that had been harassing them on their way in. He dismounted as he explained about killing them near the Hidden Pass before embracing the old Wizard.

He drew away and held up one of the swords, "Strange for Orcs to come so near to our borders," he said leadingly before producing a familiar goose-feather fletched arrow from the folds of his cloak, "Stranger still for several to be felled by a Ranger who did not remain to meet us. Regardless of how small they were." She flushed to the roots of her hair, her arrow was about as long as her arm from shoulder to wrist, as they should be, but it looked downright comical and childish in Lord Elrond's hands.

He didn't look their way as he handed both arrow and sword to Lindir, "Something, or someone, has drawn them near," the elvish Lord continued lightly, as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

It must have been some Big Folk thing because Gandalf readily look the politely posed bait.

"Ah, that may have been us," he explained, turning to the group.

Bofur pressed against her side as Thorin stepped forward, the group subtly shifting aside for him as she was sandwiched between the Ur clan – Bifur at her back, Bofur to her left, and Bombur on her right. She was starting to feel more than a little boxed in right now. Especially with Balin situated in front of her, tense as a drawn bow-string.

Lord Elrond however merely nodded in greeting to them, the friendly amiable expression he had greeted Gandalf with melting into something closer to regal courtliness and respect as he greeted the Dwarven King politely – and given what Balin had told her about the bad blood between Elf and Dwarf, she was genuinely surprised by that even though she knew Elrond was as kind and open minded as it got.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

Thorin shifted a little, "I do not believe we have met," he intoned quietly.

Elrond glanced him up and down and nodded faintly, "You have your Grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain," he admitted, as the other elves began to move off further into the city on their horses, finally allowing the Dwarves to relax and... spread out a bit more so they weren't pressed together close enough to count one another's nose-hairs.

But apparently mention of the King's grandfather was a sore spot, "Indeed. He made no mention of you," the King sneered challengingly.

Elrond, if anything, merely seemed amused instead of insulted.

He spoke in Elvish again, it was _very_ flowery and not at all like the words Baradal taught her but the meaning was familiar. Food and wine for his guests.

"What is he saying?" Gloin snarled, hefting his axe furiously, "Does he offer us insult?!" he roared, setting the other Dwarves off into a clamour of stung pride and simmering tempers.

"He's offering food and wine!" she snapped, grabbing his arm and hauling him backwards. She wanted to tell him to mind his manners but given what Bilbo had told her, she didn't think any of them had such a thing!

"No Master Gloin, he's offering you _food_, as Mister Proudfoot just told you," the Grey Wizard explained, fighting back a smile of amusement as the Dwarves huddled together seriously to discuss whether or not it was worth it to accept. Willow rolled her eyes in annoyance as the Ur trio murmured in Dwarvish behind her.

"Ah well, in that case... lead on," the red head said gruffly.

She would have been worried about the Elvish Lord being annoyed if she hadn't seen him having to suppress a chuckle at their behaviour.

The group were lead into Rivendell where Lindir took them to one of the guest wings so they could set their belongings down and get cleaned up for dinner.

"You can speak Elvish?" Ori asked, shifting beside her in curiosity.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and debated not answering, she did want to hold the group at arms-length but he was just a kid and, well, it might be useful later in their Quest if they knew. She nodded, "Some. The Rangers work with the Elves fairly often so they know some of the language, a few healing techniques, and a few animal husbandry spells for the horses. My elvish is... passable. I couldn't speak with royalty or discuss politics, but I can find my way around, do a number of the Healing Chants, I know a few horse and bird Spells, and coordinate against an Orc Raid, but not much else."

Ori lit up in excitement, Dori had never let him take part in a proper battle until now and that was only because Thorin and Dwalin were here too, "Have you ever fought an Orc raid?" he asked enthusiastically, unbeknownst to the pair the rest of the Dwarves listening in.

She nodded, "Once. The Shire doesn't see them very often. I wasn't supposed to take part in them back then. It was me, Halbarad, Anayla, and Marianne, just West of Bree. We were coming back from the Smithy there. It's the closest place that has a weapons forge and Nain needed to measure me before he could make me a blade. We literally walked into their camp. No one was expecting it, otherwise Halbarad would have sent me away. I didn't have any proper weapons, no armour, and I was only half trained. But, we managed. Luckily it was a small group or I probably wouldn't be here right now," she explained quietly.

"Did you kill any?"

She glanced at him, part of her wanted to ask him what he thought a battle really was, because he looked too excited. Her mind flashed back to all the wars of Harry's earth and the wisdom and tragedy that they brought about and wondered why battle and war were continuously romanticised when it was so bloody and horrible and heartbreaking. But on the other hand, she didn't care to speak anymore. She was uncomfortable with the subject matter and had no place to lecture this youth (and wasn't that a joke? He had to be older than her by at least thirty years).

"Two," she said flatly, hoping that was the end of the conversation.

Gloin snorted, "You should stick to your real job and leave fighting to the Warriors."

Willow huffed, "And what might that be, Master Dwarf? Because I can assure you it isn't thievery despite what you may think." That was the only reason she could think of for his dislike toward her, beyond the fact she simply wasn't a Dwarf, but he had no problem with Gandalf so it couldn't be that he was racist. Besides, he already knew she could fight and fight well if her attack on those Trolls, William and Bert, was any indication. Meaning he was looking for a fight, or had just brushed it off for some reason she didn't care to understand.

"Well, at least the lad has _some_ experience," Balin tried to interject, just as Gloin, at the same time, said, "Whoring for that Baggins."

Willow stopped dead. But she didn't turn.

"Would... you care to repeat that, Master Dwarf? I believe I may have misheard you," she requested lightly. She _must_ have heard that wrong.

Gloin either didn't care or didn't notice Balin and Fili's frantic handgestures at him to be quiet because he repeated his words without shame.

"I said, that you should go back to whoring for Baggins and leave the fighting to the Warriors," he declared brusquely, folding his arms and tensing up as the girl whipped around to him a look of black rage on her face, a fist raised to strike before she grit her teeth and lowered it. Her mother's words echoing up to her '_Just because you can, does not mean you should_'.

"Insult me as you wish, Master Dwarf, but say another word against Bilbo Baggins and I _will_ slit your throat while you sleep," she promised quietly. "Bilbo is not a pimp nor a whore. You have upset me greatly, Master Gloin. I would thank you not speak to me again until we leave Rivendell," she grit out before turning and walking away.

Their Elvish escort coughed politely, "M'lady, that is not the way to the rooms," he called to her.

She ignored him and kept walking until she was out of sight.

Dwalin huffed and punched Gloin in the back of the head, "Idiot," he growled.

_**000**_

Anger wasn't a strong enough word.

Getting called a whore was nothing new, she had little care for what others thought of her, but Bilbo had worked had to be a respectable sort! And she had worked hard so that her poor reputation wouldn't affect him, whispering in the right ears, suggesting afternoon tea with certain gossips and making certain to arrange things just so that they would know the doors had locks, that Bilbo disapproved of the right things she did and called her out on them in front of them, that there were clear divides in certain areas such as the living room and study. They would then go off and gossip with their neighbours about poor Mister Baggins having to live with that ruffian, and Bilbo would look at her with those clear blue eyes filled with frustration, understanding, guilt, and gratitude, and she would smirk like the manipulative bitch she was and make herself scarce so that Bilbo and Hamfast could have some time to each other (she had even done some fast foot and mouth work to keep that under wraps and out of suspicion too. Bell was hardly stupid, she _did_ notice even if she didn't understand what she saw or was not aware of what it meant. She would be very upset if she learned the truth, so Willow had to do a lot of talking to set her fears to rest and remove her suspicions until the wedding took place and both Bilbo and Hamfast ended their relationship).

They could insult her until the cows came home but if they said one word against Bilbo... She would have no mercy on them.

It had been his fiftieth birthday. He had arranged a party as usual. The whole Shire was invited and she had even dressed up in the pale peach dress Bell made for her and worn rose pink ribbons in her hair specifically for him. She hadn't been recognised at all. It was almost bewildering to have so many people ask her to stand and dance with them. She had to refuse them of course, she had never learned to dance and no one had wished to teach her, or help her practice, and no one had invited her to previous parties so she couldn't watch and learn. Everyone had been leaving after a night wellspent, receiving their gifts on the way out, but when it came to her, Bilbo told her he would give it to her later. He had never lied to her so she was okay with that (he didn't have to give her a gift, they both knew that, but he insisted every year).

It had been later at Bag-End, with the recently married Hamfast and Bell acting as witnesses, that he presented her with a plain gold wedding band. Saying that he had asked her to marry him when she turned thirty-five, and now that he was fifty, it was respectable to suggest engagement. When she turned fifty-five, it would be acceptable to wed. If she still wanted to.

She called him brother, and bestfriend, but on paper in the Shire? They were engaged.

And on days when she wasn't handling weapons or hunting, she would even wear the ring, instead of stowing it in her pocket where it couldn't get scratched or caught – and possibly break or rip her finger off.

She came to a stop in one of the lower gardens, having not stopped walking for a good long time, long enough that she was now at the bottom of the valley and far away from stupid insulting Dwarves who didn't know a damn thing about her and made assumptions without even trying to understand. She dropped her pack and fell back onto the grass, sighing and she closed her eyes. Like this, she could try to pretend she were back in the Shire, but the thundering roar of the waterfalls, the chill and wet in the air couldn't convince her.

She dug in her pocket for Bilbo's ring and slipped it on, holding it above her head towards the sky.

She was here so that he wouldn't be. She had to keep reminding herself. If she left, then they would just send the Wizard back to take Bilbo and he was too polite, too nice to say no.

How dare he?

How dare that Dwarf say that?

Her fist clenched, the gold band catching the light as she dropped her hand and rolled to her side – only to squeak and launch herself backwards in a frantic scramble to her feet.

"M-M'Lord Elrond!" she squeaked shifting anxiously before bowing.

"Mistress Proudfoot," the elf greeted, still clad in his armour, "Are you well? Your escort informed me of a disagreement between yourself and your company," he said delicately.

She did not question how he knew she was female despite her attire and waved a dismissive hand, "Please do not concern yourself, My Lord. I have heard worse from individuals whose opinions matter a great deal more to me than Master Gloin. I am merely upset that they would judge Bilbo Baggins so callously when he opened his home to them." She did not add that said opening was in no way willing, or their behaviour while they were there. But given the look on the Lord's face, he could guess.

"Never the less. If there are disagreements between you, know that you need only to ask and we can give you a room in the barracks where the Rangers often stay," he offered, gaze sparking in amusement at the way she flushed a little once again. From the letters Estel sometimes forwarded back, he, his daughter, and almost all of Rivendell were already aware of the little Hobbit Ranger one of his Captains had taken to training. A sweet girl with hard eyes, quick wit, and clumsy with showing her affection for others.

"Thank you, My Lord, but I would not like to put you at an inconvenience," she declined politely. He had also been told she was unwaveringly stubborn and fiercely independent too.

"As you wish, Mistress Proudfoot. But I shall leave my offer open to you for however long you are in Rivendell. Rangers are always welcome here." She bowed once again, still awkward and a little overwhelmed. "Now, as you and your associates are invited to dine with us tonight, would you like me to escort you to the female bath-halls so that you may freshen up after your long journey?" he asked gently.

She flushed realising that she was covered in dry sweat, dirt, twigs, and troll-blood and hardly the most dignified of sights to be wondering through the halls of Rivendell.

"Y-yes, that would be very much appreciated, my Lord," she said tightly as she quickly snatched up her bag and winced upon realising she had no clean clothes. Merely the set she was currently wearing and a still slightly dusty, thankfully non-sweaty and bloodied set folded into her bag, the only problem being that it reeked of pony.

"How are the Rangers around the Shire? The last I heard from my son on them was that Captain Halbarad had recently started training you," the elvish Lord asked as they began to walk through the Halls. He would have tried to take the lady's pack but she seemed jittery enough as it was and he did not wish to make her even more uncomfortable by taking what basically amounted to all of her possessions away.

"They are doing well. Marianne's lungs have healed up nicely, she is very thankful for the medicine you sent."

He smiled, "I'm glad to hear that. Perhaps I should send Lord Glorfindel to bring the next batch?" he asked, startling a laugh out of the Hobbit.

"I think you would not be getting your Lord back if you did. She is quite taken with him," the green eyed female explained.

That was definitely a spark of mischief in the elf's gaze, "Of that I am quite aware. She made her interests rather _inescapably_ clear on her last visit."

Willow laughed, _hard_, as mental images of Marianne sneaking in gropes and slaps to the backside of a poor faceless elf with long blond hair filled her mind. The last time she had been in Rivendell was when she had contracted a disease of the lungs that left her mute, racked with coughs that drew blood, and a weakness that made keeping her healthy from cold and flu impossible in the wilds. It was not out of the woman's ability to sexually harass elves while on her death bed, Willow had seen her do worse to her Ranger companions merely because she was bored. However, one of the things that Willow had always liked about Marianne was that she knew when to stop and where. _Somehow_, for all her crude, unlady-like and frankly vulgar behaviour, she always knew where every individual's personal line was, and carefully remained on the right side of it. So slapping a butt may leave the poor recipient with a bad case of embarrassment for a while, she never went to the point of making them feel bullied or hurt, emotionally or physically. It had been something that she had noticed when Marianne had given Aragol a beating for trying to push her into the Brandywine River, and it hadn't been a playful beating either, she had broken his nose and very nearly knocked his teeth lose for it.

Willow dissolved into helpless gasping giggles as she wiped her eyes, "Poor Lord Glorfindel," she managed to giggle.

"I don't know. I think he quite enjoyed the attention," Lord Elrond mused as they rounded a corner, "Ah, Mistress Proudfoot, allow me to introduce my daughter, Arwen. Arwen, this is Willowyn Proudfoot of the Rangers, she is currently travelling with our Dwarvish guests."

Willow was quite certain she had stopped breathing as the elf-maiden floated over to them.

Halbarad's descriptions did not do this woman justice.

Stood next to Elrond, she felt dirty and small, but still a Hobbit. Before Arwen of Rivendell, she very very unworthy indeed. Like a dirty puddle a donkey had left its dung in compared to pure starlight on white-silk.

The elf-maiden was twice her height, quite literally, with long waist length dark hair the colour of brown velvet, her eyes were impossible to describe, she would have liked to call them silver but they also seemed blue and white and lilac purple all at once when she turned in the light. Her skin was like cream, smooth and flawless, her hands were long fingered and dainty, looking like pure white birds in flight. She wore a long gown of white and pink reminding her of lilies, adorned with only a silver circlet around her head, her dark hair braided through it and tucked behind gently pointed ears that were narrower than a Hobbit's own and longer. She was stunning and utterly breathtaking.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Proudfoot," the elf-maiden greeted, smiling, and Willowyn _felt_ her face turn into a sunset of heat as she fumbled as gracelessly as a rampaging troll with only half a leg into a bow.

"A-a-and to you, Lady Arwen," she stuttered, stealing glances through her lashes at the enchanting woman and wishing with all her heart that the floor would swallow her whole in order to escape her presence – what must she have thought, confronted with such a dirty, graceless, ugly little thing as herself? She was probably offending their eyes.

She felt cool fingers under her chin, lifting her head and almost screeched when she saw the young (seeming) elf in front of her, _kneeling on the __floor_!

The elf-maiden crooned something in elvish that she managed to identify as a plea to not hide away from her and Willow honestly hadn't the faintest idea of handle this. She looked beseechingly at Lord Elrond only to see him with that same glint of mischief in his gaze as earlier and knew she would receive no aid against his daughter's... her... against his daughter there.

"You may address me as just Arwen," the woman said soothingly, brushing dirty curls out of Willow's face and making her alternatively want to lean into the touch, or jump away as if burned so that she did not dirty the woman's hands by touching her. She ended up with a full body shuddering twitch as the two desires tried to act themselves out at once, and the Lady received a spluttered, distorted noise of agreement – or a dog trying to throw up – from the Hobbit.

Finally deciding to take pity on his guest, Elrond spoke up, "I was escorting Mistress Proudfoot to the bath-halls, perhaps, if it is agreeable, I could leave her in your care, Arwen? No doubt she has had a long journey and would appreciate some female company." No, he wasn't taking pity on her. She took back everything she had ever thought about this elf being kind, or wise, he was cruel and sadistic and evil.

"Of course, Ada," Arwen agreed, her smile practically lighting up the hallway in a way that made it impossible for Willow to find her voice to protest, to even find a thought to protest or do anything but gape unattractively like that gormless half-wit Bunta Grubb – the village idiot.

Elrond moved off, no doubt to clean up himself and get out of that armour, and Willowyn found herself stumbling along behind Arwen like a lame pig covered in mud as the elf-maiden lead her down the corridor.

"Estel's letters tell me that you are in training to be a Ranger," she said.

Willow took a moment to untangle her tongue and nodded rapidly, almost tripping over her dinner-plate sized feet, "Y-yes, M'la – Ar – Lad - " she spluttered in distress, prompting a beautiful bell-like tinkling laugh from the elf that had her going red to the roots of her hair once again in mortification. She felt a hand smooth through her dirty hair and winced, "Please d-don't. You'll get dirty," she pointed out, cringing away.

Arwen laughed that bell-laugh again, "Perhaps, but are we not about to take a bath? A little dirt has never hurt anyone to my knowledge," she declared as they went down another stone corridor, much warmer than the ones before, the air thick with hot moisture. They must have been close.

The bath-halls were not what Willowyn had expected. It was a two room affair, with a few elf-maidens moving about here and there, uncaring as to their nudity as they chattered and sang to each other. The first room was more akin to the locker rooms of Harry's life, long benches with almost bookcase like shelves filled with wicker baskets in which folded clothing and jewellery were kept. The floor was not quite carpeted but there were woven reed matts instead of plain tile. There were polished sheets of metal hung on the walls in front of low tables that elf-maidens were using to pin their hair in front of. It was a lively place and, if Willow were perfectly honest, a very disheartening one. She felt short, fat, ugly and dirty in front of all these fair, beautiful ladies.

Two hours in Rivendell had done more to ruin her self-confidence as a woman than forty years as the Shire's pariah ever had. And not a negative word or look had been given to her. She supposed that was just a skill of the elves, to make everyone around them feel rotten – it may explain why the Dwarves disliked them so if they felt even a single droplet of the shame that she currently did.

She almost wished to run away and clean herself up in one of the rivers outside but the lure of hot water and soap was just too strong she decided as she looked for an unobtrusive corner in which to strip where she could pass unnoticed.

She didn't get a chance before suddenly the two of them were crowded by naked elf-maidens, greeting Arwen and kissing her cheeks and chattering rapidly in Sindarin, too fast for Willowyn to catch more than a few words. Soft hands were fussing over her hair and hands a heartbeat later and Willow clammed up in discomfort as suddenly her pack was taken from her.

"Ladies," Arwen interrupted, her voice uncommonly stern, "Lady Proudfoot does not know much Sindarin and she is quite tired and overwhelmed. Behave yourselves," she commanded shortly, but not unkindly as the ladies bowed their heads, shamefaced.

Willowyn shifted uncertainly, "I am alright," she said, "Truly, no harm was done," she assured them. She did not feel that these ladies should have such sad faces and did not wish for them to wear them any longer, especially not because of her.

Arwen's smile was warm, "Truly, you are most kind Lady Proudfoot."

"Willowyn," the Hobbit corrected, shuffling her ugly oversized hairy feet. They looked almost hideous next to the dainty hairless feet of the elves. "You... You have allowed me to use your name, it is only fair," she mumbled, flushing in embarrassment and twisting her ring around her finger anxiously.

"_She is so sweet,_" one of the elves whispered, prompting sounds of agreement from the others and Willow sank into her filthy clothing, feeling the tips of her ears positively _burn_.

"Thank you, Willowyn," Arwen crooned, a hand reaching out to smooth through her hair, "Let us get cleaned up, yes?"

_**000**_

**And chapter five done! XDD Elves are obnoxiously pretty and perfect. Arwen IS supposed to be that pretty in the books. **

**Now, doing research, I found plotholes and such like one always does XP Not sure if it's Percy Jackson or Tolkein just forgetting himself or his corrections over the many different rewrites he's done but some of the dates don't match up so nyah, things will not be entirely canon in here. I'll be borrowing from both books and films and adjusting things as I see fit.**

**Info about the Dwarves? That's researched and extrapolated by the 'Dwarrow Scholar', check him out on his website, just give him a google search. His research is pretty solid so he's my general go-to for Dwarvish culture, but I will be using artistic licence to but a bit of an extra spin on a few bits and bobs.**


	6. Food

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER FIVE – Food**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**The elf ladies were very kind.** She and Arwen stripped out of their clothing, Willow setting aside her cleanest set of clothes to be changed into when she finished (unbeknownst to her the ladies were waiting for her to enter the bathing area before whisking said clothing away to be properly cleaned and replaced with one of Arwen's old dresses from when she was an elfling), and took off their jewellery before making their way into the other room.

The bath-hall was a large heated swimming pool that was shallow enough for a Hobbit to stand in and still have water to their shoulders, and deep enough at the other end for an elf to swim. The room was beautifully panelled with varnished wood and potted plants that did well in warm humid environments. She could see elf-maidens washing themselves with water from the buckets, soaping up and rinsing off, and others lounging and soaking in the steaming hot water of the main pool.

She was surprised to see a few of them sporting scars before she remembered that elves did not hold silly notions of refusing to allow women to be soldiers.

Arwen showed her where to get herself a bucket of hot water and cheerfully gathered several soaps and lotions to wash with, explaining that the lotions were for hair, the grey to wash it, the green was to be left in for a time and then washed out to make the hair soft and healthy.

She didn't know when or how it even happened but one moment she was washing herself down, the next, Arwen was dumping a bucket of warm water over her head and attacking her hair with the grey washing lotion. Willowyn squawked, her eyes clamping shut as the thick soapy foam threatened to dribble into her eyes.

"A-Arwen! A little warning next time, please!" she exclaimed, flailing for balance briefly.

The elf laughed, "My apologies. I thought you would refuse if you knew what I planned," she admitted, her voice mirthful. Willow grumbled, the elf had her there, she _would_ have said no.

No one had washed her hair for her since her mother died.

It was only too easy to fall into a tired daze with Arwen's clever fingers threading through her hair, working the lotion right through her thick curly hair down to the roots, massaging her scalp to the point of bliss. She was quite certain that had she been a cat, she probably would have been purring – thankfully, Arwen didn't drop another bucket of water over her head. Instead, she had Willow tilt her head back and slowly pour the bucket down the back of her head, threading her fingers through the heavy mahogany curls until they were free of the grey foam. The elf-maiden then poured the green lotion into her hair and worked it in, root to tip with careful, clever fingers before piling it atop her head into a knot.

"There, leave that in until we've had a bit of a soak and then we'll wash it out," she said, handing the Hobbit a bar of rose soap, the girl sluggishly obeying the unspoken command to wash up in a boneless daze. Elves gave _very_ good head massages and she didn't _care_ that the other girls were giggling at her for it right now.

"I'm Finilesse, you come from the Shire, yes? What is it like?" one of the elf women asked, leaning towards her in interest, her blonde hair wet and gleaming like buttercups and golden sunsets around her pale skin.

Willow hummed slowly as she rubbed the bar across her underarms, "Green. Very green," she admitted slowly, casting her mind back. "Plants everywhere. Everyone has their own flower garden and vegetable patch, all nice and neatly fenced off from the main road. If you're rich, you live in a Burrow, bigger the better. We have big families so they have to be big with lots and lots of room for children and relations that come to visit. Everyone knows everyone and what they're doing and what they have done and what their families have been doing. They gossip like starlings back home," she explained slowly as she rinsed herself off and soaped up again, still not feeling entirely clean.

"And you? Where did you live?" the woman asked curiously.

"Mmmm, I stayed with my friend. He had a large Burrow, but was an only child. His parents died young and no lady has taken his fancy."

Arwen's smile was sly, "Save yourself?"

Willow chuckled at that, "No. Not even me. Bilbo loves anther, but the others in the village would view their union as queer and unnatural. It would not be accepted. They married this Spring past, so Bilbo is no longer seeing them as it would not be proper." Gay was one thing, but marriage was another and Hobbits were loyal creatures.

Willowyn had never been the centre of positive attention before, it was very strange but also kind of nice as she slipped into the warm water of the pool and found, much to her pleasant surprise, that there were steps leading down into the water, meaning she could sit comfortably and the water would not be any higher than her chest. The others had to sit further down as they were much bigger but it was alright, they didn't seem upset to learn that she was uncomfortable with deep water.

Arwen was very good at keeping her talking, she would later think, and very good at getting information as well. Had Willow not been so used to it being common knowledge, she may have thought twice about admitting to her father's poor decisions in regards to her, or Bilbo's kindness in taking her in. She asked about Hobbit culture, recipes, food, parties, and Willowyn was only too happy to tell her about cooking, her favourite foods and recipes and how to make things, how most Hobbits ate seven times a day which was just... foolishly excessive. If both her _and_ Bilbo ate that much then they both would have starved to death long ago as he had no trade and was a gentleman of leisure living off the Baggins fortune and what he grew in his own garden, and no one would hire her for honest work (though Otho Sackville-Baggins had offered her silver for a night in his bed, she confessed to the scandalised elf-maidens, who were thoroughly approving when she admitted to perhaps breaking his nose and arm – he told everyone he had a disagreement with one of the workhorses as he knew that if he tried to turn it onto her then Bilbo would have his head _and_ his reputation for it). How birthdays had enough food to feed the village three times over, fireworks, singing and dancing, drinking, storytelling, and gift-giving. The elves seemed both amused and perplexed about the Hobbit custom of giving your _guests_ presents instead of receiving them, but they felt it a grand-tradition none the less.

She was wrinkled like a prune by the time Arwen ushered her out of the water to rinse her hair of the lotion. They washed once more, as was elvish custom, before moving into the other room where drying cloths were folded neatly to one side in baskets for use.

Arwen had Willow sit down while she dried her hair with both cloth and comb, the elves giggling and singing as they dried and played with one another's hair. They even prompted a song out of her only it was a great deal less appropriate for the bath-halls of an Elvish city in the presence of a Princess – seeing as it was a drinking song about the Green Dragon back home (the only one that came to her mind at that moment in time, embarrassingly). None the less it garnered a fair bit of laughter from the elf-maidens.

The only problem she had with the whole situation was when she turned to dress and found her clothing swapped for a silk gown of elvish design in dark rose red and buttercup gold, they had even taken her breast-bindings away! It was a beautiful gown, and entirely inappropriate for someone like her. Especially since she was masquerading as a male amidst those Dwarves.

"Arwen, I cannot wear this!" she exclaimed, handling the silk dress as though it would fall apart in her hands. "It is much to fine! And the Dwarves – the Dwarves do not know I am female!" she told the dark haired woman as she paused in the middle of changing into a beautiful blue and green dress.

Arwen smiled sadly at her, "Have no fear, Willowyn. You will not be dining with the Dwarves tonight, your secret will be kept," she promised, taking the Hobbit's tiny hands in her own, evergreen coloured eyes staring up at her with wild anxiousness and confusion. "My father would like to see you in the Halls of Healing first, to ensure the journey has not had ill-effect upon you. Dwarves are hardy, they often forget that other folk are of a more fragile nature," she justified as she smoothed a hand through the lass's beautiful curls and hid her sadness from her pretty evergreen eyes.

How could they not have noticed how thin and small she was?

Though if she had been hiding her gender from them, successfully at that, for so many weeks, it was not too beyond belief that she had also managed to hide her current emaciation from them. Arwen was not a healer, but she had learned from her father something about how to care for others, and she knew, the moment that Willowyn Proudfoot removed her shirt, that the poor girl was starved. To hear that most Hobbits ate seven meals, but that she had limited herself to less than half for most of her life, and less _still_ for this quest with the Dwarves was... horrifying. That she did not even know it was poor for her health was even more concerning, but hardly surprising when Arwen learned of her father's behaviour and the aftermath of her being made homeless.

The trip to the Halls of Healing was short, Willowyn moved swiftly in the dress, anxiously checking around corners so that she would not be seen much to the amusement of Arwen and Finilesse who escorted her, the latter carrying her pack and weapons. She looked very fine in her dress but it was clear she was uncomfortable and unused to such things – she kept tripping on the fabric as it tangled in her legs and caught under her cute furry feet.

She could practically see Finilesse fighting back a coo as the Hobbit climbed up the side of the bed in the Halls of Healing, and she did have to climb. The bed was at eye-level with her.

Lord Elrond strode in not long after their arrival, clean, and dressed in sedate robes of autumn gold-leaf brown. He exchanged a few words with his daughter in hushed tones before nodding and moving towards her, a small smile flickering across his face as he eyed the dress.

"Now that is a familiar gown. You wear it well, Mistress Proudfoot," he told the Hobbit, making her flush. These elves were bad for her health and self-esteem she decided, far too pretty and nice. She mumbled an awkward thank you. "Arwen has told me that she is worried about your health. If you would permit me to examine you? It will be hands on," he warned her politely.

Worried about her health? She knew she wasn't anywhere as beautiful as an elf but did she really look so awful by comparison that they worried for her health? Horror and sheer mortification filled her, making her queasy. She nodded mutely and fought not to flinch when Lord Elrond took her hands, strong fingers pressing into her flesh to feel her bones.

He worked his way up her arm, checking her pulse, temperature, feeling for scar tissue, over-stressed muscles, stretched tendons, shortened tendons, anything that could negatively affect her. He then moved onto checking her throat and the glands there before her other arm. He did not share his thoughts but occasionally asked her how she gained this or that scar if he thought it particularly deep. His hands then pressed on her chest, smoothing down her sides where the frown became more pronounced. The questions from then on became significantly more personal and serious, and as horrifying as it was to be asked things like how often she passed waste or had her menses, she answered his questions as clearly as possible as it was apparently important.

It would be a very unhappy Lord Elrond who left the Halls of Healing later on, and a bewildered, mortified and ashamed Hobbit left behind in the care of his daughter.

_**000**_

Dwalin knew what most thought of him. The dumb-warrior whose only use was to hit things with a war hammer. Not smart enough to be an Advisor to the Throne like Balin, not strategic enough to be Captain of the Guard. He heard the whispers before he set out from the Blue Mountains, brought along on Mad King Thorin's Quest as muscle alone, a washed up old warrior looking to break a few more Orcs and relive the glory days before his death.

But he was Balin's brother. He _wasn't_ stupid or simple-minded.

He did, however, like to keep things simple.

He had no care for political double-speak, worrying and fretting over the consequences of his actions and the actions of others and how it would affect the world around them and the people in it. He had seen Balin's hair turn white as snow before his hundred and fiftieth as he worried and fretted and tried to keep as many of the Dwarves of Erebor clothed and fed and _safe_ as he could after their displacement. No, he did not care for such stress and heartache. He chose the Warriors path because he wanted to protect, but had no patience or care to do it the way his brother did (Balin was always the greater of the two, and he would break the teeth of any young fool who tried to disagree simply because Dwalin's body-count was higher).

He liked to hit things, and break them. And that was all there was to it.

But he wasn't stupid. Nor was he deaf or blind.

Their Burglar was a Burglar-_ess_. A female.

And right now, she was _not_ here.

He growled low in the back of his throat as an elf moved too close for comfort. He was _not_ happy. He tried to remind himself time and again that the female was a _Hobbit_ and not a Dwarf, thus he had no obligation to her safety as he would for any of his kinsmen (memories of running a Man through for trying to abduct a twelve year old Dis during the years of their displacement, the little girl crying hard as she clung to his armour wailing for her brother as he carried her back. Thorin, barely twenty six, too young, far too young to kill as he had been forced to, rampaging through the filthy encampment to his sister and enfolding her into his arms, tears of terror and relief and fury squeezed out from his future king's eyes as his sister sobbed into his neck) but try as he might it was next to impossible to go against his very nature as a Warrior, as a _protector_ of his people. He hadn't noticed or cared at all about their Burglar, save to be confused by his brother's oddly protective behaviour and the way the Crown Prince seemed to take such concerns around him. But earlier that very day, the scream was unmistakable to his ears and immediately his brother and Fili's behaviour made all the more sense in his mind, their horror and insistence to go and find her after she ran into the wilds with a grief enraged troll on her heels. Their concern as she returned, silent and dark eyed. They had been the only two of their company to know they had a female amongst them and had worried over her safety appropriately.

His leg was twitching, jogging up and down in place as he swept his gaze around, waiting for her return. A single glance in Balin's direction told him that his brother knew he'd figured it out and he was now just as concerned with their female's absence. Fili was twitchy but unlike the old Dwarves he seemed to have less trouble accepting that she was out of sight – no doubt because he had been born in a different time to them, a time where protecting their females just wasn't possible sometimes. It still angered him that such things were possible.

Even Bofur was looking concerned with the female's absence, craning his head this way and that to all the exits, shooting glowers at Gloin when he thought no one noticed. Dwalin wondered if the toymaker too had noticed their unexpected burden. He wondered if _Thorin_ knew (probably not, he was as old fashioned as the rest of them who lived before the fall of Erebor). If Gloin knew the Hobbit was female, he would not have breathed a word of his suspicions around her. Not even the elf calling her '_My _Lady' had caught his attention, but since when did any of their party pay attention to elves? Likely as not they believed the elf-male was under the impression their Hobbit was a female Dwarf (Elvish and Mannish females did not have beards, poor things). On the one hand, he could understand Gloin's treatment of their Hobbit. She had snapped and bared her teeth to their King, uncrowned as he was, for seemingly no reason. However, unlike Gloin, he was a little more understanding of the simple fact that the lass was not a Dwarf, and a fall like that could have easily done her harm. A great deal of it at that. Then there was the whore comment. His brother had already ripped into the Banker in regards to that, he truly had no right to say such to her, despite what he may have believed, or how understandable it was to believe it.

Having never met Hobbits before, he judged Master Baggins with a mix of both Dwarvish and Mannish custom as clearly they were not so far divorced from their own people to be of such height and live in the ground as they did. To walk so scantily clad, and live in a home with so many bedrooms and no one else but he and one other to live in there, a larder stocked enough to feed a small army of hungry Dwarves to contentment, it was not too far out of consideration to believe they had stepped into a brothel, especially when Master Baggins seemed not to even try and remove them or deny them hospitality. It had set the older Dwarves (himself included) ill at ease with the idea of having such an individual of disreputable employment on their quest. Dwarves were not promiscuous. Their females chose one male, and even the males chose one partner for relief and did not 'sleep around' as it were. Only Men-folk did such things and given their experiences they knew just how twisted some of the Mannish sexual desires could be – their lust for children was disturbing, and a Hobbit who looked akin to a child for the entirety of their lives would be a lure difficult to ignore. Then there was talk of Rangers in the area that she was familiar with, even denying Fili's escort to see them, it made them uneasy about improprieties. To say nothing of the ease the lass had with leaving her home to begin with on a Quest that had little to do with her. A fair fighter she may have been, but to find that she had so little combat experience under her belt after felling those trolls and Wargs had surprised them all. It was hard to put respect, or trust, in a greenhorn. Especially when harbouring doubts as to their respectability. No, Dwalin could understand Gloin's foolishly loose tongue, which meant he felt all the more justified about hitting him for letting it wag free – for Mahal's sake, even he watched his words around their Burglar and he had not a diplomatic bone to his body. They _needed_ her to get the Arkenstone!

The head elf, Lord Elrond, returned, wearing a sour expression as he glanced them over – and here Dwalin thought he was at least somewhat decent compared to the other weed-eaters.

"Mithrandir, Master Thorin, could I tear you away from your meal? Also, your party's healer will be needed. It is a matter of some importance," the elf explained politely. Weed-eater or not, he had manners, and for that, Dwalin could forgive a great deal of offences against them, not many took the time to even attempt civility with Dwarves.

Wait, Healer?

He exchanged a look with Balin who was frowning in concern. Their Burglar was the only absentee. What had happened to their Burglar?

_**000**_

"I am exceptionally disappointed in you Mithrandir," Elrond declared once they were in private, taking his guests aback for a moment as he paced up and down in tightly leashed anger. "You of all people should know not to take a Hobbit so unwell on such an adventure as this," he chided sharply.

"Unwell?" Thorin echoed doubtfully, glancing between the two. "The Hobbit has shown no sign of illness. Only last night he felled three trolls single handed and more Wargs than I cared to count this morning," he protested, "I do not think that is the work of any being who is unwell."

Lord Elrond shook his head, "Perhaps not, but the fact remains that he is," he stated shortly with utter surety. The young lady had bee quite insistent that he not give her true gender up, and while he could only advise her against hiding it, she had been insistent on not informing her party.

"What seems te be the problem?" Oin interrupted before a pissing contest could break out, his hearing horn angled toward the elven Lord.

"Starvation," the elf summed up flatly, "Master Proudfoot has been eating less than half of what a Hobbit requires daily for the last thirty years, and less still since the start of this adventure. Both through necessity and ignorance." He withdrew a book from his shelves and handed it to the Dwarf Healer, "It is in Common, and possesses all the notes I have taken in my time on Halfling physiology. Understand that I am unhappy about this, but I do not blame you or your party. Master Proudfoot was unaware of this issue himself."

"How can one be unaware of their own hunger?" Thorin wondered sceptically.

Elrond sighed, "From what my daughter has learned through conversation, Master Proudfoot's father cast him out at a young age. He spent some months slowly starving to death until he was taken in by a friend, however, by that point he simply ceased to feel hunger any longer. And as he managed to survive on so little, and witnessed Rangers doing the same, he came to the conclusion that the Hobbit custom of seven meals a day was wasteful." The Dwarves exchanged looks, it seemed as though they would have to take extra care of their Burglar. "None the less, Master Proudfoot is aware of his folly now and I have him in the Halls of Healing recovering. Where he will remain until I feel he is no longer in danger of organ failure."

Oin blanched, "The laddie was that close te - " he spluttered as the elf inclined his head in grim agreement.

"Master Proudfoot is remarkably hardy and knowledgeable enough on herbs and nutrition to stave it off himself until now. He has been made aware of the problem and has assured me he will do his best to eat as needed," he explained while Gandalf sat down and rubbed his forehead.

"And that Larder was stocked only for one," he mumbled remorsefully, his memory flashing back to Bilbo Baggins' Burrow and the well-stocked larder. A larder stocked for a single hobbit with food to spare for guests. "I should have known."

"What is done, is done. You cannot correct the past, Mithrandir," Elrond corrected him shortly before looking to the head of the Company, "Master Proudfoot is currently sleeping. Shall I send word for you when he awakens?" he inquired.

Thorin twitched a little before nodding slowly, "That would be appreciated," he managed to say before falling silent and scowling. Brooding as anyone within the company would have said (just not to his face).

He would not receive a summons until the next morning.

_**000**_

The conversation with Thorin was not a pleasant one, she was forced to explain her's and Bilbo's sorry circumstances to him, Dwalin, and Balin – the latter two looking more and more stricken and surly by the second as she explained that there just wasn't enough food for both her _and_ Bilbo to eat the seven required for a Hobbit every day. So she went without so he didn't have to, since he was kind enough to put a roof over her head. He didn't know as she spent most of her time out of the village with the Rangers who were also unaware. It was mortifying having to admit to her own ignorance on that, more so still when she had so carefully cultivated the imagery that Bilbo was a well-off respectable Hobbit to the rest of the Shire.

Of course, admitting to this somehow ended up with her getting a frickin' _guard_ to make sure the elves were giving her enough food (there was absolutely _no_ worry about that. Arwen would sit and give her doe eyes until she finished eating _everything_ on her plate). Those guards ended up rotating out, Dwalin and Balin, with Fili and Kili, and Bofur and Bifur.

They ended up staying for two weeks, apparently there was some Council Meeting that Gandalf had to attend, and Thorin was waiting for a specific phase of moon in order to read some hidden runes on his map.

'_Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon in the same shape and season as when they were written,_' Balin explained to her one evening when she asked why they hadn't moved on – because she knew full well they did not like elves and would never willingly remain around them for long. Never mind how Kili seemed to have difficulties forming coherent sentences around Arwen, or that even Dwalin went pink when she asked him if he needed anything and he growled at her to leave him be (That girl was just as much of a mischief maker as her father, Willow could _see_ her fighting a giggle of amusement at how she affected the Dwarves around her. She seemed to find Kili particularly adorable, and confided in her that he reminded her of Estel, her love, when he was much younger).

Keeping her gender a secret with the 'guards' was a bit of a trial, but thankfully Fili was more than able to distract his brother, Dwalin didn't care enough to fuss when she stepped into the bathroom to change, and Bifur and Bofur were just too easy going, they tended to spend most of their time whittling or smoking and gossiping and singing than guarding (Dwalin hovered at the door, bristling whenever an elf walked in that wasn't Arwen or Lord Elrond while Balin told her stories of Erebor. The less said of what Fili and Kili thought appropriate on guard duty the better). But apart from speaking with them, there was nothing for her to do but eat and sleep. By the third day she was bored to tears and had, in a fit of pique because she wanted something for her brain to chew on, she asked Lord Elrond if he would consent to teaching her some Healing techniques that may be useful for their journey. He dropped hither-to untold number of books in front of her and during the evening meal would quiz her on what she'd read before allowing her to handle medicines and herbs. He even taught her a few chants when he learned she had some skill with them, though he warned her that she would never be able to heal as an elf would as she was not immortal or blessed by the Valar. When Oin found out about her lessons, he too poked his nose in and requested to join and was warmly welcomed by Lord Elrond who had long desired to pass on his knowledge of healing with those who took interest in it (his sons being completely uninterested and Arwen having very little skill in anything but the basics).

When the time came she did not expect them to leave in the middle of the night – or to be woken by a mischievously grinning Kili hitting her about the head with her own pillow.

"Time to go, Mister Proudfoot!" he whispered loudly, near-enough upending her out of the bed.

She groaned and tried to shove him off the bed, but like all Dwarves he was like a brick and didn't even rock under her attempts, "What _are_ you talking about?" she grumbled sitting up and rubbing her face.

"Thorin said to get dressed and grab your things, we're leaving while Gandalf distracts the White Council," Kili explained as he snatched up her neatly folded clothing on the near-by empty bed and threw it at her. She grunted as her shirt struck her in the face. "We're going to meet him later on in the mountains," he continued excitedly, as if the thought of a clandestine escape from '_elvish clutches_' was exciting. Despite the fact they were in no one's clutches and there was no need to be clandestine about it. But she let him have his fun and sluggishly dragged herself into the water closet to change and take care of her morning rituals. She left, yawning and in the middle of tightly braiding her hair, when she had to stop and catch the apple Fili had just lobbed at her head.

She glared at him and stuck it in her mouth, gripping with her teeth as she tied her hair off, it was looser than she'd have liked but apparently they were leaving _now_. Swinging her pack on, her cloak went over and her apple was eaten on the way to the Dwarves chambers, Fili handing her another when she finished the first – the core being thrown into the undergrowth. She was eating a square of the curiously sweet bread that Lord Elrond and Arwen had been stuffing her with over the last two weeks by the time they were leaving Rivendell via the mountain pass and fending off Bombur's inquiries as to whether she had eaten enough.

It was going to be a long journey.

_**000**_

"_Why the halfling?_"

"_...Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check. But that is not what I have found. I've found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keeps the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. __Such as taking a loved one's place on a fool's quest. Owyn Proudfoot was not my first choice, but, I believe he may have been better one. Why bring him? Perhaps it is because I am afraid, and he gives me hope...__"_

_**000**_

**Bilbo gave him courage, Willow gave him hope. He'll need both in the future. XDDD **

**Also, holy shit this story has been on FIRE. Two chapters written yesterday, and probably another two today. When the motivation is there, IT. IS. THERE.**

**I hope I explained Gloin's temper issue and Willow's situation clearly in this, I've been getting a lot of confusion over the reviews on things I thought had been cleared up so I'm going to reiterate here:**

Balin, Fili, Dwalin, and Bofur know she is female. Balin because she put her full name on the contract to make it valid. Fili because he copped a feel. Dwalin because she screamed, and Bofur for the same reason – though he had been considering it for a while, the scream just confirmed. The elves know because of letters and Ranger gossip.

Gloin isn't the only Dwarf that was under the impression that Bilbo ran a brothel, he's just the only one blunt enough to say it. That has been cleared up now thanks to Balin giving him a sound telling off.

Gandalf went off with Elrond so he wasn't there for the confrontation between Willow and Gloin – he is unaware of her gender as he recalls her as a very active and boyish child, wearing breeches and shirts and waving sticks around like swords as she and Bilbo went Elf Hunting in the forest and getting into all manner of mischief.

Willow's drama regarding killing things – Orcs are acceptable. They're creatures incapable of love afterall. They were CREATED by various Dark Lords by torturing and twisting elves (Can't remember if it was Sauron or Melkor who did it – I know Melkor did the Balrogs so I'm assuming it was him, he is one of the Valar and has been causing problems since the First Age). Trolls, that's a fuzzy area. Some work for the Dark, others are just like the three brothers who scavenge and what not looking for food. They were a family group that cared for one another, so to her, they're just Big Folk like any other but without a concept of civility (memories of Harry with Giants and other such beings like werewolves and vampires kind of meaning that their lives aren't worth any less simply because they're people eaters).

And lastly, the eating issue.

Given how hobbits aren't horribly obese from eating such huge quantities of food, and able to pack away a good four lots of Elvish Lembas before being full, I soundly believe that they _need_ huge quantities of food. I have reasons for this belief, but they won't be covered in the story for a while so I'm keeping them quiet for now (sufficed to say it's part of the creation mythos I came up with for Hobbits and their own subtle branches of magic, again, not something I'll be touching for a while). Willow managed fine with how little she ate because she ate the right things, just in small amounts and didn't do certain things that other Hobbits do, again, not saying as future plot stuff. Besides, I prefer the idea of plump little hobbitses. It's adorable.


	7. Falling

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER SIX – Falling**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**If someone had told her, ten years ago, that Dwarves were all secretly fussy mother-hens, she would have laughed in their faces. **Right now, she was rather tempted to start clucking as mockingly as she could as Bofur fussed over her at dinner, plying her with an extra portion of stew, Dwalin and Thorin glaring at her until she took it while Oin nodded approvingly. This had been a routine regularly played out at almost every meal since they had left Rivendell four days ago and she still felt embarrassed by the fact she was now being coddled worse than Ori – who looked thoroughly amused that for once it wasn't him on the receiving end of the fussing. She glowered at him and the boy had to turn away to hide his snickering. Bloody traitor.

Still, she was eternally thankful to Arwen, who must have inherited some of her father's foresight, as she had managed to stuff a number of leaf-wrapped packages into her pack while Willow hadn't been paying attention. Those packages turned out to be the same strangely filling soft bread-buns that had been fed to her while in the Halls of Healing. Balin called them Lembas, and apparently they were a special elvish bread, the secret of making it passed down to them from one of the Valar herself. They did not give it to just anyone, and that Arwen had gone so far as to pack so many for her was a sign of great affection.

It was thanks to that bread that she could fend off the worst of the fussing from the Dwarves, making sure she ate at least one between each meal so they didn't have to stop regularly just to stuff her face like some kind of baby-bird.

She was close to ripping her hair out with frustration by the time they reached the mountains and had taken to finding refuge with Ori whom she could speak with about, well, just about anything under the sun. She learned that he wasn't actually a Warrior through-and-through, he was a Scribe mainly – apparently his eldest brother, Dori, did not want him in any heavy combat and was particularly protective of him. He eagerly showed her the various drawings he had done throughout their journey and blushed to the roots of her hair to find one or two of herself. There were huge numbers of sketches of both the Shire, Bag-End, and Rivendell. She found a handful of Wargs and Orcs, even the three Trolls (one of the pictures seemed to be a moment frozen in time drawn from memory – the moment she stabbed Bert in the back of the neck, she had to quickly move on as shame and guilt rose up like a suffocating shroud in her chest making it hard to breathe all of a sudden), and then there was Mad Radagast and his rabbit sledge. She had to giggle when she found a few absent minded doodles on a page at the back, they seemed to be reminiscent of little cartoons as they were heavily caricatured images of various company members saying things in Dwarvish.

As they went higher and higher, both she and Ori, plus Fili and Kili were moved to the centre of the group for safety. Which was annoying but she ignored it, continuing her chatter with Ori who had asked her about herself, for information's sake when it came to recording their story. So she told him the important things. Her mother was a Took, they were Hobbits of a more adventurous variety. Her father was a Proudfoot, well to-do, but stubborn as oxen and often unpleasantly judgemental. Her mother died young before she could have any siblings, and her father cast her out not long after because she got into a fight with one of the village boys. She was taken in by Bilbo months afterwards as her father had managed to keep it quiet for fear of social backlash. Years later she would meet the Rangers whom she learned to fight from. She had been training with them for two decades before this adventure. She had agreed to go on it because Bilbo had no skill in surviving the wild, and she knew that Wizards always got what they wanted. So she twisted circumstances briefly in order to take Bilbo's place, as she would have a better chance of coming out of this than him.

"Mister Baggins is lucky to have a friend like you," Kili observed seriously from up ahead.

She snorted, "He took me in while my father was telling anyone who'd listen that he wished I had died instead of my mother. I'm lucky to have him," she corrected as she felt the first droplets of rain strike the top of her head.

Groans of dismay and annoyance went up amidst the Dwarves as the heavens overhead opened.

"But I've already had a bath this year," Ori complained behind her, startling a laugh from the Hobbit as she pulled her hood up.

"I hope you're joking there, Ori! Or you're sleeping on the otherside of the camp!" she exclaimed as the group continued on in the steadily worsening rain, the sky overhead growing dark, and the path in front of them narrower and harder to see.

The sudden boom of thunder almost startled her off the edge of the mountain.

"Looks like we're in fer a real doozy of a storm!" Bofur shouted over the howling wind.

"Balin! Take the lead! You know these mountains better than us!" Thorin roared over the crash of thunder, "We have to find shelter!"

She saw shadows moving and heard the crumbling of rocks and stopped, looking skyward and blanching, "DUUUCK!" she screamed, spinning in place and grabbing Ori, pushing him against the cliff-face and shielding his body with her own as a _huge_ stone boulder the size of a watch-tower crashed into the cliff overhead.

It was chaos as the small group tried to shield themselves from falling stone, huddling back against the cliff as the mountain side opposite them fell away – no, it didn't fall away...

_It stood up!_

She gaped, open mouthed as a humanoid form made of rock and flint climbed to its feet in front of them.

There were Big Folk. And then there were _BIG_ folk.

This was ridiculous.

Balin shouted something incomprehensible over the rain and thunder and grinding rocks. She could hear Bofur shouting in wonder and Thorin bellowing something at them all before Dwalin was covering both her _and_ Ori from falling rocks, pushing them both firmly back against the rock face.

Everything was a blur of noise and panic as the mountain they were on started to move and shift and stand. Fili and Kili screaming to one another as they were separated, the whole world dipping and swooping as they lunged through the air, clinging to the shins of a giant.

Her voice was locked in her throat. Ori's fingers were leaving bruises. Dwalin's arm was the only thing keeping them on the mountain.

They crashed into the cliff-face.

And in the chaos, Ori slipped from her arms.

Her heart stopped as olive coloured eyes locked with her own, wide with terror, his world dropping out beneath him and sending him falling down the mountain side -

She reached down and caught him.

Her fingers knotting in his coat sleeve and followed after him – a tiny underweight Hobbit, no matter how much stronger she was compared to others of her kind, was in no way able to stop the larger, heavier Dwarf from dropping.

She went over the side of the mountain.

And grabbed the ledge in her other hand. Crying out as her shoulders wrenched.

Dwarves were screaming above them. Her hands were burning.

But all she could see were Ori's wide, fear-stricken olive orbs, his rusty red hair that stuck up in messy braids because he was forever fiddling with them and pushing them out of the way while he wrote and read.

She could only smile at him and grip his hand all the tighter until arms (Thorin's) reached out to pull him to the mountain face and back to the waiting embrace of his brothers.

She clung to the cliff tightly with one hand and swung her other up – almost hitting Thorin in the face before she got her grip on the rock. She felt him grab her foot and push her upwards and gladly took the help he so freely gave, hauling herself up onto the cliff before turning to aid Dwalin in dragging their King up.

Ori flung himself at her, sobbing.

And suddenly it felt like her ears had popped and the world was back in focus. The sound of lashing rain filled her ears, growling thunder overhead, Ori crying, the cold of the water and how it was running down her back – warming as it went, how her fingers throbbed with heat and pain as Ori's weight pressed reassuringly against her. She couldn't stop herself from wrapping her arms around him securely and soothing him the same way she did when Bilbo's horrid relatives drove him to tears as children.

It was then she realised she was shaking and gasping as if she had run from Bree straight through the East Farthing Woods and to Bag-End, her heart going a mile a minute.

She looked around and had to swallow before she found her voice, "I-Is everyone alright?" she called over the thunder, casting her gaze around. Nori and Dori looked traumatised, hovering close by. Kili had yet to unstick himself from Fili. And Balin was almost as white as his beard as he looked his brother over as the Warrior fussed over his water-logged, grumpy King. No one answered her but the moment Ori sat back, sniffling and wiping his face, _Dori_ took his place. Practically crushing her to his chest, breathing a heartfelt thank you into her ear.

She shivered and patted him on the back, feeling Ori's hand find her's and cling tightly, still clammy and shaking.

_**000**_

It was a sorry looking cave with a curiously sand floor, and she thought it very curious because they were quite high in the mountains and sand... that was more of a _beach_ thing. Were it silt, she could understand. Silt got everywhere, especially in caves. But sand?

Well, at least it was dry.

"Right," Oin declared, "Shirt off. I want te take a look at that shoulder. Grabbing old of Ori like that had te 'ave done some damage te a Hobbit," he declared waving a leather bound book at her.

She blanched, gripping the edges of her cloak closer to her body, "I beg your pardon?" she asked weakly.

"Lord Elrond gave me a book on Hobbits. As the Party Healer, I've been reading it very carefully and consulting with him extensively on how best te keep ye in one piece. First thing te learn, Hobbits have light bones and loose muscles. I'm surprised yer arm wasn't dislocated," he declared briskly flipping through the book and presenting a laboriously illustrated diagram written in the common tongue of a Hobbit's musculature and skeleton.

She stared at him like a terrified rabbit for a moment, her knuckles white on her cloak before blinking and looking around at the company. Some were watching the exchange in concern, others were continuing the business of getting dry and comfortable. She swallowed.

"Somewhere... less public. We do not – it isn't _proper_ to – in front of..." she trailed off awkwardly and for a moment it looked like Oin was going to say something scathing, but one glare from Dwalin and Balin – and oddly Bofur – had him nodding shortly and gesturing to the back of the cave where a large rock lip would allow for some privacy.

Swallowing hard, she made her way back there and took her cloak off, setting her pack down as well.

"Right, shirt off!" Oin declared once they were out of direct eye-line from the rest of the party.

She flushed, "Um, there's something I should probably warn you of first," she whispered twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands.

Oin nodded, "Aye. I already know, lassie. Lord Elrond figured it would be appropriate fer me te be aware as the Healer of the group."

She flushed and glared at him, "Then why did you ask me to - "

"I don't believe it's something ye should be hiding from the rest of the group," he told her flatly, "Hobbits clearly don't treat their women folk well if yer that scared te let us know. But I can assure you that Dwarves are Gentle-folk te their ladies. If my brother ever even thought to say a cruel word te his missus I'd drop kick him inte Smaug's open mouth," he assured her candidly, "And no Dwarf 'ere would disagree with me fer it."

She scoffed, withdrawing into herself, "I'm no Lady," she told him.

Oin snorted, "Ye may wear trousers, and eat Rat Stew without gaggin', and split open Trolls' necks. But ye carry yerself like more of a Lady than any of those Courtly airheads I've seen amongst Elves and Men. Again, Hobbits and Dwarves must have very different ideas on what's lady-like and what isn't. Now sit down and take that shirt off so I can see yer shoulder," he commanded, pointing to the rock in front of him.

She sighed quietly and did as she was told. Stripping out of her sodden vest and shirt, unlacing her bracers so she could take it off properly. She had a proper shirt in her bag that should be nice and dry. She would change into that and fresh trousers and underwear once she was finished with Oin.

Sitting down facing away from him in just her breast-bindings and trousers, she shivered in the cold as he held her arm out and probed her shoulder with deft fingers.

"Well. Ye shoulder's fine. Ye've overstressed yer back muscles though lassie. You'll be feeling that fer a while. Hang on a mo while I get some ointment out. Should sooth the worst of it. Make sure ye change into something dry though. Don't want you catching yer death of cold," he fussed as he dug into his pack for a small jar of thick ointment that smelt of mint-like herbs. She nearly flinched when the cold mixture was slapped right between her shoulder-blades. The cold went away leaving burning heat behind as Oin's fingers moved across her back, massaging the ointment in. She winced and gritted her teeth as he stubbornly rubbed knots out of her back muscles with a bit more force than was needed – it was nothing like Arwen's soothing head massages that left her nearly catatonic and purring. No, when Oin took his hands away she felt only relief that he had finally stopped while when Arwen did so she whined in disappointment.

"Get dressed. I'll see what I can rustle up from Bombur fer ye," the grey haired Dwarf told her as he stowed the ointment away and got to his feet, wiping his fingers off on his coat.

"Thank you, Master Oin," she said dragging her pack over for dry clothes.

He grunted at her, "Don't thank me fer that. We should be thankin' you fer saving Ori."

She didn't really have anything to say to that. To try and brush it off as no big deal would be to insinuate that Ori's life was not a big deal, and she couldn't do that. So she just nodded silently and dragged out a shirt. Oin grunting again at her before rejoining the others, nodding to Thorin as he passed the dark haired Dwarf just behind the rock divide – of course he had been listening in. He was responsible for the well being of everyone on this Quest. Thought right now he looked like he had been clipped upside the head by one of Bombur's skillets though. Guess he had been unaware about their Burglaress as well.

It was still storming outside by the time she curled up in dry clothes in order to try and get some rest. The constant snarl of thunder outside made it difficult for her to sleep even curled between Ori and Dori as she was (the moment she returned from changing, Ori had latched onto her again and since he wouldn't let go, Dori had ushered her into his clucking care. Yes. Clucking. Bloody mother-hen. He was the worst of the lot!). Her other hand kept dropping to the elvish blade Gandalf gave her, half expecting the ceiling to be ripped off by another one of those giants.

It wasn't until she heard something _distinctly_ unnatural that she woke up out of her odd paranoid doze properly.

That was the sound of shifting gears. Heavy machinery. She _knew_ that sound from when she was Harry.

She looked down as she felt the ground shift and gasped, "WAKE UP! EVERYONE UP!" she screamed as she saw the floor begin to split open.

A heartbeat before it dropped out beneath them.

She screamed, even as she felt arms band powerfully around her, tucking her head against a chest that smelt of leather, sweat and lavender – Dori. He was the only one of the Dwarves concerned with smelling nice for ladies, they all thought him a bit of a dandy for the way he tried to keep himself impeccably neat and well done-up.

She grunted as the world spun and struck her, right up until the group hit something solid and did not roll off. Fire light filled her eyes, making them ache painfully before hands that smelt of rot were suddenly there, grabbing, tearing, and pulling.

Goblins.

She screamed, panicking and trying to wrench herself free as she felt long fingers with broken nails more akin to talons than anything else roughly grab at her breasts and hair as she was dragged out of the pile of Dwarves. She was half aware of the others yelling and cursing as they wrestled with the boiling horde of Goblins that grabbed and pushed and heaved. She could hear Ori calling her name and Dori cursing as he swore to break a Goblin's neck for touching her. It was chaos. And she heard the ones holding her let out chilling cackles, leering at her face.

One even licked her and she wanted to throw up, or burst into tears.

Women did not do well when captured by Orcs and Goblins. They would play with her. Violate and torment her by the hundreds and force the others to watch before finally letting her die and then _eating_ her. And if she were lucky, they would do it in that order.

She panicked.

She would rather die than let these disgusting creatures take amusement in her.

She locked her elbow with the largest of the Goblins that had hold of her, and swung her hips as she kicked the back of his knee out.

Inertia took them as the Goblin found himself knocked off the side of the bridge – dragging the female with him.

Voices yelled and howled as they hit hard stone.

Her head struck a rock outcropping, and then there was nothing.

_**000**_

**Buh duh duh dun! Yeah. Goblins and Orcs? REALLY not good to women-folk. It's a point made in the books that Elrond's wife as caught by Orcs and tormented so badly that she Faded and had to Sail to the Undying Lands while Arwen and the twins were still considered young by Elvish standards.**


	8. Riddles in the Dark

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER SEVEN – Riddles in the Dark**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**Ori saw it as if in slow motion.** Mister Proudfoot's face as he was dragged out of the pile by Goblins, how his face went white and his malachite coloured eyes widened in terror. It wasn't the same kind of fear as them, it was a fear that came with knowledge. He could head Dwalin snarling in Khuzdul to the others, telling them to get their Burglar, protect their Burglar.

He saw that fear firm into grim resolution in Mister Proudfoot's eyes and the sudden motion that flung the huge Goblin holding him over the side of the bridge – and dragged him along with it.

He saw the Hobbit's head strike the stone. Heard the crack throughout the cave.

Saw the blood that decorated the rock and how he went limp like a rag-doll and continued to fall, tumbling into darkness and dropping through a ravine.

He had always liked Mister Proudfoot. He was very much like his name-sake. A proud Hobbit who stood apart from the company, wary and mistrustful in the same way that they had been towards him. But he had always answered when Ori asked him a question, no matter how annoyed he was or how much he clearly did not wish to answer. He ignored all snide words, in Common and Khuzdul, that he surely heard with his head high like one of the Noble Lords, and kept pace with them over rocky mountains and open planes. How he felled the trolls in order to protect them and stood till the last Dwarf was safe before Thorin pushed him into the passageway. And all this while sick and starving. When they got to their rooms to clean up, Balin, of all Dwarves, had laid into Master Gloin about his behaviour with a temper that Ori had never seen from the former Advisor. None of them had been best impressed with Gloin's words, forcibly reminding him that Hobbits were of an entirely different culture to _both_ Dwarves and Men, so holding them to the standard of either was doing both them, and themselves, a vast disservice. That was no way to speak of a being who allowed them into his home, gave them the hospitality of their Hall, the food from their table, and their shelter so that they could discuss their plans privately and meet again after so long apart. It was after Rivendell that Mister Proudfoot seemed to have decided to trust them, regardless of Master Gloin's insult, he was open with his smiles and laughter and quick-wit. He answered Ori's questions about his poor family and the kind Mister Baggins who took him in.

And then the cliff crumbled beneath his feet and it wasn't Mister Dwalin who was behind him who reached down for him. It was Mister Proudfoot who caught his hand, who didn't let go even when he fell over the edge of the cliff after him, too small to hold his weight.

It was Mister Proudfoot that smiled so warmly and reassuringly as he tightened his grip on Ori's hand and clung to the cliff-face until they could be rescued.

It was Mister Proudfoot who held his hand while he bedded down and swallowed back delayed tears from his near-miss.

And now he was gone.

Ori stumbled along in a daze, the image of the Hobbit's smile in the rain imprinted on his mind, the blood on the rocks and the limp twist of his body as darkness swallowed his tiny form. He felt something thick and suffocating in his chest as they were dragged into a large chamber, the walls seething and boiling with Goblins, filled with fire-light as they were dragged to the throne in the centre of the chamber. The Great Goblin, gelatinous, rancid, rippling and grotesque.

Ori didn't think he had hated a being more before in his life as the Goblins spoke of the fourteenth in their missing party.

"The woman threw herself onto the rocks, your malevolence," the goblins reported, "She fell into the lower tunnels. Even if she were to survive, the creature will deal with her."

And it all made sense.

_**000**_

The world spun when she opened her eyes. Though she couldn't be completely certain that she had, it was so dark that she doubted she could see her hand in front of her face. She was lying in something soft though, almost fleshy but cold. A sniff told her dizzy mind that it was mushrooms. But perhaps not a variety she should risk eating.

Slowly, because she knew she had hit her head, the Hobbit sat up, her hand raised to the air to make sure she did not bang her throbbing head on anything unpleasant again. Once sat up, she gently probed her head with – unbeknownst to her – dirty fingertips and cringed at the feeling of blood that decorated her fingers and how her head throbbed and screamed at her. She dropped her hand and tried to stand, only for her legs to buckle in pain.

She gasped, trying to silence a cry of pain as she caught herself before she smashed her head upon stone again. Her hip! There was something wrong with her hip!

She couldn't stop her filthy hand from clamping down on the agony in her side and nearly cried out again as the jagged tear in her flesh protested the action.

She fumbled in the dark, taking off her waist coat and using her belt and sword sheath to cover it with a made-shift pad that would hopefully stop the bleeding. She stayed where she was, just giving herself some time before she attempted to try moving again and eventually hauling herself up.

Checking her sword for light proved that she was no where near Orcs or Goblins, a small mercy, she decided as she wavered on her feet for a moment, feeling light-headed and sluggish as she slowly tottered through the tunnel, pausing only when she felt her ring under foot. Must have fallen out of her pocket when she fell. Quickly stowing it back where it belonged, she checked her mother's necklace, which was thankfully where it still belonged before she carried on, checking her blade periodically for Orcs or Goblins and blinking as her surroundings took on a fuzzy outline of white light.

Light?

She carried on towards it, smelling water, and damp things as she did so.

She could also hear a voice. A voice that was neither Orc nor Goblin.

"Hello?" she called, stumbling into a _huge_ cavern, a lake stretching out in front of her, shimmering with captured light from a crack overhead, moonlight spilling into the chamber to send light dancing across the walls. She gasped, "Oh, how pretty," she slurred, her vision dipping and swaying for a moment out of focus.

"It calls us, Precious. What is it?" rasped a nasal voice behind her.

She turned, keeping one hand on the wall, the other pressed to her hip. The creature in front of her _could_ have been a Goblin, but it wasn't. Her sword wasn't glowing, and there was something about his shape that felt familiar. He was small like her, though if he stood straight, he would perhaps be a half-foot taller. His eyes were blue, and such a pretty shade too she decided as she sat down on one of the rocks, feeling dizzy, like a blue moons peering out at her in the darkness.

"Are you the Master of this Cave?" she asked politely, because despite what Bilbo and the others may say of her, Holly Took had raised her daughter with manners. Manners she only saw fit to use when she felt the other deserving of them. And as this being had yet to insult her, or attempt to do her harm, he was worth those manners in her mind (no matter how much her skin crawled and something within her told her not to trust him, her head was too far gone to make note of it).

"Yes, we is, Precious," he rasped, moving into the light, skittering closer on all fours, his eyes widening and his smile widening as he got a better look at her, "Blesses and Splashes, _that's_ a meaty mouthful!" he exclaimed, the poor thing grinning at her with only a handful of teeth and gums that looked raw and painful.

She couldn't stop herself from laughing a little drunkenly, for some reason, everything from the hunched back, the loincloth and over-large eyes, even his ears which looked too big for his head and his stringy grey hair, reminded her of another creature long before Willow was Willow and back when she was Harry. Kreacher. Abandoned in the dark, left to madness within an empty house with no Master to serve, left to seethe and writhe in loneliness and hunger and mania. Perhaps it was the memory of Kreacher, of the sweet old elf she remembered after so many trials and problems, of so many tears and tantrums and mishaps as his mental illness threatened them both as he tried to come to terms with his new Master being nothing like his last, and Harry tried to come to terms with _owning_ another life and trying to treat it well even when it hated him. Perhaps it was that memory that drove her to laugh and gently place a bloody hand against his chest when he moved towards her.

"Silly lamb, I'm not for eating," she chastised gently.

The creature frowned, almost poutingly at her, "Then what is it for, Precious?" he demanded petulantly.

She hummed, "I am a Hobbit, Cave Master. We grow things, and smoke pipes, and drink ale, and sing and have merry times," she explained as she pressed a hand to her hip. "If you are hungry, I think I have some elvish bread in my – oh blast," she cursed, "I forgot, those Goblins took it away."

The creature nodded seriously, "Nasty thieves is Goblinses. But better than old boneses, Precious, yes, better than old boneses," he declared knowledgeably before skittering away once again. She let him go (no! She shouldn't take her eyes off him – he was dangerous!), just resting a minute. She knew she shouldn't close her eyes and go to sleep, but she could feel herself getting further away and swallowed hard.

"So, Cave Master, might I know your name?" she called into the black.

"Hobbitses wants to know our nameses, Precious?" echoed back to her.

"Yes, I would like to know your names. It _is_ awfully impolite to call you 'Cave Master' at all hours. My name is Willowyn Proudfoot. I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but those horrid Goblins have done me a bit of a mischief," she admitted before nearly jumping out of her skin as she felt cold fingers on her collarbone – she caught them before they could wrap around her throat. Maliciously glaring blue eyes, like ice leered at her from over her shoulder. So like Kreacher's that she could only smile and gently squeeze those dirty fingertips, recalling how only kindness seemed to filter through to his twisted mind. "Now, I have told you I am not for eating," she reminded him as those eyes widened in pure bewilderment and something her doubling vision couldn't identify.

She must have been so strange and different from anyone or anything he had seen or spoken with in such a long time. Living in a cave at the bottom of a Goblin settlement must have meant that his only interaction with others was likely with Goblins or those who managed to escape them. And she couldn't imagine them to be very kind to him.

"We is... We is Smeagol, we is Gollum, Precious, yes. Proudfeets. Proudfeets is strange," he accused her, pacing around to face her as if she had wronged him on a personal level.

She laughed again, "You remind me of someone I considered family, kin, a long time ago," she explained gently, smiling weakly at the being. Multiple personality was one of the potential problems Kreacher had faced, one Harry had researched just in case, but she found that... she just couldn't remember what was said, couldn't remember how those books suggested she handle him. So, she just tried to be kind. Kind and honest and as soothing as possible. Hopefully it would prevent them both from being hurt, but with mental illness, one could not be certain.

He paced in front of her, muttering to himself, carrying a conversation to himself about her as he looked up and shook his head and continued to pace and mutter and hiss, scowling and hissing and smiling and bouncing. He seemed to have only the two personalities. A darker, crueller one, and a sweeter, more child-like one. If she had to guess, she would have assumed the darker of the two was the split-personality, the one that came away to protect the other in this dark and damp place.

He edged into the light and she felt her breath catch as she finally realised what she was seeing.

This was a Hobbit.

"What games is it playing, _gollum, gollum_?" he hacked, pacing up and down, baring his teeth at her. "Oh, is it playing games, we likes games, Precious, yes we does! Does it like to play, Precious?" the other personality, the sweeter one, chirped enthusiastically, blue eyes wide and innocent.

She smiled, "Only when I'm playing with the right people. I should like to play a game with you two though," she said gently, watching as he spun in a circle babbling excitedly before waving his hands and hopping onto a rock beside her, eyes wide as his hands fluttered.

"What has roots nobody sees, is taller than trees, up – up – up it goes! But _never_ grows!" he asked happily.

She giggled sloppily, "Oh dear, riddles, I'm not very good at those," she told him before humming thoughtfully. "It cannot be a plant, as all plants grow. And I cannot think it to be a house or a castle, as such things do get bigger as they are built and the foundations can be seen at least at one point," she mused as the other Hobbit spun in place happily, wriggling like a puppy, "Oh, this is a hard one. Is it... a mountain?" she asked finally.

"Yes! Yes!" Smeagol cheered laughing, "Let's have another! Another! Do it again! Ask us!" he exclaimed, gesturing to himself.

"I don't know many riddles, you may find them too easy," she warned with a smile before thinking back to some of Bilbo's favourites. He loved riddles. They used to play games with them when they were younger, he would always set a riddle as the password to the hollow oak where they used to play, the little blighter. "Th-thirty white horses, all in a row. First they champ, then they stamp, and then they stand still," she said, she was quite certain she had gotten it wrong but it was a great many years since the last time Bilbo had felt playful enough to riddle her.

Smeagol hummed, his expression cycling through various emotions and thoughts as he turned it over in his head.

Her smile wavered as pain raced up her side, oh dear, her vision swam a moment. She should really think to getting out. She needed to get out. She had to find the others. They would probably manage to escape the Goblins, they were not warriors for nothing, and Gandalf was supposedly on his way too – hopefully he would find them.

"TEEF!" Smeagol suddenly screeched excitedly, "Teefses!"

She smiled, "Correct! You are _very_ good at this," she praised, and he positively beamed at her, like Kreacher once had at his most senile, and her heart ached just a little as her vision swam. "Oh no. I am sorry, but I think I should really be leaving. My head is not doing so well and I think I need to find my friends," she groaned, the world swaying and the light blazing far too bright to be natural. Smeagol's face fell and she couldn't stop herself from saying what came next, "Would you like to come with us?" she asked dizzily as she slowly levered herself to her feet, "I am sure my group would welcome you. We are heading East?" she questioned herself, her head was spinning and everything was all jumped, East sounded right. Smeagol visibly floundered before shaking his head.

"No! Precious! No! Proudfeets must stay! Stay here with us! In the dark! Away from Goblinses!" he protested loudly, slapping his hands on the rocks. He skittered up and grabbed her clothes, "Proudfeets stays with us where it's safe and dark and we can play, Precious!" he told her.

She cupped his face in her free hand, "I am sorry, dear-heart, but I can't. I am needed else where."

"No! No, no, no, _Gollum, gollum_!" he hacked, coughing harshly. "We'll makes you stay! We'll makes you!" he howled, a moment before his hands were around her neck.

She gasped in the unrelenting grip as he hissed and snarled.

At least he had not gone at her with a knife and magic as Kreacher once had, she decided as she pressed her thumb against one of his tendons and pushed him away with a foot against his chest.

They fell back and apart, Willow gagging and rasping against the rocks while Gollum fell onto the ground and snarled at her.

"Stop! Wait! Wait!" Willow shouted, holding her hand out to him, gasping, "Wait! How about this? We finish our game of riddles, and if I win, you let me go – you show me the way out?" she bargained, coughing.

Smeagol looked distressed for a moment before, Gollum twisted his face into a possessive scowl, "And if Proudfeets loses, it stays!" he demanded.

She sighed rubbing her throat, "Oh you know I can't," she told him sadly.

"Then we eats it whole," he declared angrily. "No we shouldn'ts!" he echoed immediately after, Smeagol slapping the rocks beneath them as the two began to argue with each other.

It was sad and heartbreaking to see.

She looked around, nudging a small pile of old fishbones, an idea unfolding in her mind. She couldn't stay, and she didn't want to be eaten. And with her head as it was and the poor soul being so unstable, she needed to leave sooner rather than later. So... something else...

"How about this? If I lose, I'll make you a fishing net and give you one of my knives? Is that acceptable? You will be able to protect yourself from Goblins, and able to fish enough to fill your belly with ease," she suggested. But he still looked unhappy. "And I promise I will return to see you on my way back," she added because she was not thinking clearly (it did not occur to her that her safety would not be guaranteed the next time – she had no insight into the dark scheming mind of the twisted Hobbit who scented her weakness like a shark would blood in the water, her kindness, the pity she had for him, the concern that would make her an _easy_ target). Her head was swimming and her body felt like one giant bruise and she just wanted to see the sun.

"Proudfeets has to promise on the Precious!" Gollum demanded slyly, skittering forward. "Promise on the Precious and it will happen!" he demanded. When Proudfeets came back, he would make certain the Hobbit stayed. Tie his hands and his feets, take him to his nest on the island rock where the Goblins couldn't reach and keep him.

She nodded, "Alright, I will promise on the Precious to come back and visit you on my return journey," she said watching as his eyes lit up and he immediately began to rummage in his pocket – only for his face to freeze and panic to surface. "Smeagol? What is wrong?" she asked, reaching out to him, only he was suddenly away from her, screeching about something being lost, throwing aside fishbones and batwings and crying out in distress. She staggered to him, "Smeagol, Gollum, whatever is the matter? What has been lost, dear-heart?" she asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Mustn't ask us! Not its business!" he wailed, curling into a ball with his hands over his head.

"I must say it is my business when someone is upset so much! Now tell me so that I may help you! Have you lost something? What does it look like?" she asked firmly, rubbing his back gently.

"Looost! My Precious is lost!" he continued to wail and she cringed before rummaging in her pocket for a handkerchief – that she had forgotten to bring. Only...

Why were there two rings in her pocket?

Realisation struck her and she took the ring she picked up earlier out of her pocket, "Smeagol, is this it? Is this your Precious?" she asked, gently taking one of his hands and placing the ring into it before pulling away. She didn't want to give any impression that she was trying to take it from him. He was sick and may turn violent if she did.

Blue eyes stared at the ring in awe, his sobs immediately phasing away into nothing as he stroked the warm metal of the little golden ring.

"The Precious," he breathed before looking up at her with wide moon bright eyes, "You gave us... the Precious back."

She nodded, "I found it in one of the tunnels back there," she said, pointing to the passageway she had come from. A moment later when she turned around, he was gone. "Smeagol?" she called curiously, she hadn't heard him move. She smiled, he had probably gone to go and put it somewhere safe if it were that precious to him. She took one of the blades hidden on her person and set it down on a rock before wriggling and fumbling inside her shirt, tugging the bindings around her breasts off. They may not have played their game, but she saw no reason not to make him his net. It was the work of an hour to knot it appropriately though it was far too small to be of use to him, much to her regret.

Her leg had stopped bleeding though, so she took the waist coat and tore it into strips, adding it to the net and grinning as she held it up.

"There. That should catch a fair few fish! At least until I can come back with a proper net for him," she declared to herself before carefully folding it and setting it onto the rock beside her knife. Getting to her feet she looked around once more but couldn't see him.

"Proudfeets is... different," a voice said behind her, making her jump nearly out of her skin as she turned, it was Gollum, eyeing her with a curious expression on his face. "Hes..." he then squinted at her chest. A chest that without her bindings was somewhat larger than when she had set out from the Shire thanks to the food that had been stuffed into her in the month since Rivendell brought her starvation to light and was now straining at the buttons of her shirt. Gollum stared for a moment before looking up at her, "Yous is different. Yous is giving us the Precious, playing gameses with us, even making nets and giving kniveses and sayings yous will come back."

She smiled, "Well, us Hobbits have to stick together in this wide world. We are family," she pointed out, gesturing to their feet.

Gollum looked down and his eyes widened as he seemed to realise what she had said. He looked up, "We is showing yous the way out. Yous," he said darkly with an aggressively pointed finger, "is coming backs again."

She smiled in relief, "Yes. I will come back."

Gollum nodded and gestured to her. "Follow us, Precious, follow," he commanded as he slipped off the rock and lead her through the shadows and tunnels of the mountain to sandy path filled with golden light.

She squinted at the light, feeling her head throb and her eyes hurt, a moment before a hand touched her leg. She looked down and Smeagol's watery blue eyes peered up at her.

"Proudfeets is coming back, right Precious? It promised us," he whined (plans to build another nest, plans to catch and kill and eat, and plans of games and riddles – but always plotting, scheming in the dark).

She caught his cheeks in her hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "I promised on the Precious, didn't I?" she asked softly, "I will come back to you. I'll bring you a bigger net, a better one too. And mushrooms. Good ones that you can eat. You two take care of each other, you hear me? Smeagol, I know Gollum is strong and scary but you need to protect his heart so that he can protect you. Stay safe, and don't go looking for trouble."

Smeagol nodded catching her hand in his sadly, she smiled and squeezed his fingers before turning walking towards the light, her hand slowly slipping away from his as she stepped out of the mountain and into the light of the setting sun.

It took some time for her eyes to adjust but, the sight that greeted her when she did was not as grand as she was hoping.

She could hear the howls of Wargs and cursing in the wind.

She would bet money that was where her Dwarves were.

She ran.

She ran as her vision swam, stumbling and skidding past trees and branches, jumping over brushes and ditches, her hip _screaming_ as she reopened the wound, as she towards where she heard the shouting and bellowing of Dwarves on the wind. Her lungs burned and her legs felt weak. The light was fading and night was falling. It was hard to see where she was putting her feet but somehow she managed.

Light exploded up ahead. Fire. And she could hear Wargs snarling and yowling in pain and dismay – Wargs that came running towards her.

She jumped, grabbing the nearest tree and climbing far out of reach – they didn't see or smell her.

But it gave her a good view of what was ahead.

Her Dwarves trapped in a single tree, fire carpeting the ground in front of them. Gandalf barely managing to hold on to Ori and Dori.

Thorin in the jaws of a white Warg.

She swung herself down from the tree, biting off a scream of pain as she rolled to her feet, eyes swimming with tears of pain as she staggered to her feet, panting as she ran forward.

She burst into the fiery clearing and flung herself forward, straight at the Orc about to behead their foolish King and tackled him – sending them both tumbling over to the otherside.

The Orc snarled and thrashed a moment before she slammed her blade through his eye and twisted it hard enough for the crack of bone to be heard over the yells of surprise.

She staggered to her feet, grabbing Orcrist in her free hand as she stood in front of the fallen Dwarf, glaring through hazy eyes at the white Orc, at Azog.

"You will not touch him," she snarled baring her teeth.

The Orc looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her unbound chest, her hip and leg stained with blood down to her ankles, the finger prints upon her neck, her face dripping with scarlet, and grinned, his scarred face twisting in malevolent amusement as several other riders shifted behind him, their mounts snarling at the scent of blood in the air. She grit her teeth and shifted, holding the two blades in the grip Marianne taught her.

"_Take her!_" the Orc commanded, he would force the sons of Durin to watch them play with her. Dwarves were always protective of their females. He would _break_ them before he took their heads.

The Wargs snarled and stepped closer, their rider's laughing as the tiny female lifted the elvish blades ready.

"GET AWAY FROM THEM!" Dwalin roared, war-axe smashing into the snout of a Warg, breaking its teeth and sending it screaming and howling in pain as the Dwarves positively boiled over the Orcs. Fili and Kili's blades flashing in the fire-light as they charged at Azog. Bombur physically slamming into one of the Wargs and sending it flying into Bifur and Bofur's violent reach as both pick-axe and spear tore into its howling body.

One of them lunged for her.

She snarled and slashed the Warg's eyes open, diving to one side and hamstringing the beast with both blades – sending it crashing to the ground where it pinned its rider down and half crushed it with panicked writhing.

She plunged Orcrist into the beast's chest before ramming the dagger into the Orc's head as he struggled to stand behind it before she turned to face Azog. Shifting herself to stand between him and Thorin again. She wasn't about to let that overly proud idiot get beheaded yet!

An Orc went flying overhead.

Willow blinked in confusion, had she just seen -

An eagle shrieked through the air and suddenly one of the Wargs in front of her was snatched up in huge talons and flung off the edge of the cliff with a screech. Powerful wings blew fire over Wargs while trees were pushed down to pin them and Orcs were snatched up and thrown over the cliff.

One of them swept over and snatched her off the ground. She screamed as she felt it drop her out into the open air.

She landed hard on the feathered back of another and nearly stabbed it by accident – thankfully she was able to get both blades out of the way without hurting the incredible creature as she twisted her head, spotting Fili and Kili upon an eagle to her right, and Thorin behind her in the talons of another, out cold, limp. Gandalf astride the one in front – the largest with the golden feathers.

Her vision wavered and she trembled, feeling cold. Her hip throbbed but it felt very far away as dawn began to colour the horizon, the eagles arcing around the mountains before wheeling down towards a valley some several leagues away from where they had been. Thorin was set down upon the stone first, he was still and limp and... very small to her eyes as Gandalf landed next, sliding off his eagle and rushing over to drop down beside him. The others landed soon afterwards and she came in last, her eagle sitting down to allow her to awkwardly slide down, having to lean against silky brown feathers before the world stopped spinning around her.

She blinked blearily up at the creature, "Thank you. I'm sorry I got blood on your feathers," she said to the bird who made an odd avian whickering sound before gently nudging her away with a wing.

"Worry not, little rabbit, it will wash out with the rain," the eagle told her as she stepped back and watched it turn and dive off the edge of the rocks.

She turned, feeling weak and cold as she saw the Dwarves crowding around their King in concern. She stumbled over, nearly bumping into Gandalf and having to steady herself against his shoulder.

"The Halfling – my eyes – did they lie to me?" the Dwarf breathed, his head rolling to one side as consciousness returned to him.

"Excuse you," she griped, "I'm not half of anything, you stubborn old Dwarf."

Blue eyes opened wide to stare at her in a mixture of confusion, horror and wonder a moment before he was suddenly staggering to his feet. She didn't give him a chance to say anything before she was swinging Orcrist off her shoulder and holding it out to him.

"I borrowed it. Have it back before I fall on it," she stated bluntly frowning as she looked at him, or what she thought was him, her vision was doubling again.

"You are hurt," he observed, taking in the multitude of injuries, the cuts and bruises and filth that plastered her.

"I fell off a mountain, I'd like to see you walk away unharmed," she griped as she swayed in place. "Now, are we going to go and get your mountain back, or stand here gossiping like fish-wives until I pass out?" she asked bluntly.

"You – why did you come on this venture? We have treated you nothing but poorly from the start!"

Her head was spinning, "Because I have been without a home. I was lucky to have found a new one with Bilbo. He is why I came. So that you could return to your home is why I stayed," she explained, probably not very well, she felt light headed. She had been bleeding for a while, hadn't she?

There was a moment of silence, and then Thorin said something, she couldn't hear it, her vision went strange for a second and it was as if everything was plunged underwater for a moment – she grunted as she felt herself being crushed. No, not crushed. Hugged. Which was probably worse.

She groaned but didn't try to shove him off, "You reek of Goblin," she complained, awkwardly sliding her hand under his coat to pat his (gross sweaty) back.

"...mell ...ish," he retorted, voice very far away.

"That's nice. Let go already," she told him, her words slurring.

She was aware of him stepping away, and of her legs nearly buckling again and a hand catching her at the small of her back before she went down properly.

Her vision was spinning and she could hear Oin snapping at everyone and she was lying down all of a sudden.

She grunted in pain and tried to push him away when she felt his hands pushing her blood-slick hair aside to get a look at her head wound.

"S'alright lassie, you sleep now. Yer in good hands," she heard Oin tell her from very far away and for once gladly did as she was told, letting herself sink into woolly darkness.

_**000**_

**And BAM. Chapter done. Yes. I did things differently with Smeagol and Gollum. I always disliked that Bilbo treated someone with such obvious mental problems so horribly. And yes I know the ring probably affected his behaviour in regards to Gollum, making him want to keep the ring no matter how much obvious distress and upset he caused to the creature over a simple golden ring that really, a Hobbit wouldn't have cared for. So yeah, someone who's so used to resisting the demands of society, who knows the touch of spiritual manipulation and has defiance imprinted on their soul isn't going to feel the call of the ring.**

**Also, talking Eagle, it happens in the Books. Eagles are able to talk and they even call Bilbo a bunny. Willow's less of a bunny and more of a kitty, but I don't think the eagles know what cats are.**

Some people were confused about how the Goblins knew Willow was female when half the Dwarves didn't – She _did_ get changed in that cave you know. They probably saw a hell of a lot more of her than Oin or Bilbo ever did.


	9. Goblin Blood

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER EIGHT – Goblin Blood**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**He had thought his eyes deceiving to him as he lay on the rocks, his ribs on fire, his vision darkening at the edges.** He had thought himself hallucinating when he saw her land on the Orc about to take his head, silver blade flashing gold in fire-light, the sound of cracking bone and the smooth ring of Orcrist lifted again as a bare foot stepped into his line of sight.

_You will not touch him_

Malachite eyes burned molten gold in the fire light, hair unbound in seething curls of gold, ruby, garnet, copper, topaz, and obsidian. Her shirt and trousers bloodied and filthy, her knuckles bruised, broken, and bloody as she faced down the pale Orc.

It had been her that he had last seen when his world turned to black. The female he thought he had failed, just another in a long line of women he had lead to their deaths, another he had been unable to save in the wild-world outside of a Hall. He had seen her go over the bridge, her arm in the grip of a Goblin, had seen her head strike the rock and the light die in her eyes as she fell, leaving nothing but blood in her wake. Had heard the words of Goblins about creatures in the deep that would consume her if she lived and had given up hope of her return and focused instead on the safety of his own people.

It was her who had returned to them, bloodied and exhausted. It was her who stood between him and the Pale Orc and took up his sword to defend him. It was her he saw when he first opened his eyes. Her face pale and painted with gore, her throat patterned with fingerprints, those malachite coloured eyes dull and out of focus as she leaned heavily on Gandalf, their wizard's face twisted in concern as he gestured Oin over.

And then her legs buckled and darkness took her. Oin fussed, cleaning her head and her hip as best he could, stitching them shut and slathering them with ointments and clean bandages, but there was little he could do here. They needed shelter, and she needed rest.

Two things they were unlikely to be getting anytime soon.

Dwalin handed his pack to Bofur and easily took the Hobbit onto his back, Dori fussing momentarily as he wrapped a blanket about her, tucking it in and tying it in place so that it wouldn't slip away and leave her free to chill. He would have carried her himself, but Oin would have his braids for it, his ribs were bruised badly, one or two even cracked, from that Warg's jaws and even though the Hobbit was light, they still had to climb down from this outcropping.

"Where's the nearest settlement?" Dori asked, shooting looks at the female on Dwalin's back looking so small and fragile with her head wrapped in stark white cloth against the dark citrine of her hair.

Gandalf's face pinched, "The Elven King's Halls, Thandruil's Kingdom to the East. There are the Woodsmens' cottages, but they are set within the boughs of Mirkwood, and I would not venture there without a path, not with our Hobbit in such a state," he stated, his expression sour.

"Well, first thing's first, we need to get onto flat ground and moving again," Thorin declared, his gaze lingering on the female, "Balin, Bifur, Oin, Gloin, stick close to our Hobbit. Kili, you have the best eyes, I want you at our back, keep your eyes open for trouble. Gandalf, take the lead, you know these territories better," the King declared, looking over his group of weary, dusty, bruised Dwarves and their delicate cargo with a sick feeling of guilt in his stomach. He took a deep breath, ignoring the pain it brought him, they were strong Dwarves, brave and true, he could trust them to handle the pace. Even Ori, his face painted with dust, his hands gripping Dwalin's hammer, his peridot eyes hard as flint as he flicked them from the female to his brothers to their surroundings.

"Let's get moving."

_**000**_

Later that night Oin managed to rouse their Hobbit and get her to eat some of the provisions they managed to save from the Goblins, she swayed where she sat, caked with filth, blanket over her shoulders and sandwiched between Dori and Dwalin with a bowl of rabbit stew in hand, mechanically eating while Oin knelt in front of her and examined her head with a disapproving eye.

She went back to sleep almost immediately after eating.

"I'm not happy about that headwound," the healer muttered as he sat down beside Thorin, "It looks halfway on its way to infection and I don't have the herbs for it, those blasted cave rats shattered half my bottles in that dust up."

"If her wounds become feverish, what then?" Thorin asked grimly.

Oin shook his head, "I couldn't tell ye. Hobbits are of a different sort te us. More delicate in bone and muscle, but more flexible by far, able to handle a great deal more mental pressure than physical. Not te mention they're able te go without food fer a lot longer'n us. I couldn't tell ye how an infection would treat her. Best I can do is keep her wounds as clean as possible and her temperature down until the fever breaks of its own."

Thorin growled unhappily at this news.

"She'll make it," Ori said firmly, watching her from his place not far from them, between Fili and his brother Nori. "She's a lot tougher than we think she is."

Their King nodded slowly, turning his gaze back to the female tucked against Dori's side, fast asleep.

"I hope you're right, Ori. I really do."

_**000**_

She had a fever by the next morning, though was able to wake up long enough for Oin to get some water and broth into her.

Her head would had a mild infection he declared, cleaning her up and rebandaging her head. Her hip though... She had torn it badly in her sprint back to their side and that crazy dive onto the Orc to save him. It stretched four inches long across her hip and deep enough to scrape bone the Healer reported grimly as he cleaned away pus and dirt. She had not landed anywhere clean, there was Goblin blood and mushroom spores and silt and all manner of filth and dust in her hip which he very carefully cleaned, muttering his thankfulness to Mahal that she was unconscious for it.

Dori had her set upon his back that day and the group continued to walk. Gandalf eyeing the surroundings with care, puffing on his pipe with increasing frequency and disgruntlement as he glanced back to their Hobbit and forward once again. More than once Thorin wished to ask after the Wizard's thoughts, but always he remembered his elder cousin Dain's words of amused wisdom '_A Wizard's business is his own, to ask after it is to invite it to become your business. And a Wizard's business is always trouble_'. He had enough trouble on his plate with his quest to reclaim Erebor with a scant handful of twelve Dwarves. Some of the best he knew, yes, but twelve against a dragon when all the soldiers of his Grandfather's Kingdom could not... No, he could not afford to invite any _more_ troubles onto his group. Especially not when they had a sick and injured female to protect at the same time.

By the end of the day she would not wake and lay sweat-streaked, her face flushed, and panting with fever..

Oin was grim as he forcibly fed her water and a cold tea to reduce her fever.

"She won't make Mirkwood at this rate," he told them flatly. "Her head wound is fine. That cleared up well. Her hip though. Whatever she tore it open on hit a goblin first. The blood is fouling up her wound down to the bone. I need athelas if I'm going to flush it properly," he told the group.

"I've not seen _any_ athelas since the eagles dropped us off," Kili admitted, sounding distressed.

"You won't find any," Ori said miserably, "It won't grow here. The ground isn't right."

"And you won't find it in Mirkwood either," Gandalf summed up grimly.

"...Does this mean... she's going to die?" Bombur asked in a small voice, fiddling with his braid as he looked at the female who had so willingly eaten anything he ladled out for her, thanked him every time, even offered to wash the dishes and the pots so that he could go to bed early. They had spent a few mornings discussing cooking since they left Rivendell, she didn't know much stew, but when it came to other things like baking and frying and casseroles, she knew a lot more than him.

No one answered him.

Gandalf sighed, "There is a house," he admitted softly, drawing their attention.

"And who does this house belong to, friend or foe?" Thorin demanded sharply.

"Neither," Gandalf stated, "He will either help us, or not. He is neither, Elf, Man, Dwarf, Wizard or Hobbit. He owes his allegiance to no one and cares only for his animals and his land."

"Well, what choice to we have?" Dwalin demanded gruffly, "Either we carry on as we were and the female dies, or we risk getting aid and possibly saving her."

Thorin nodded, "Lead the way Gandalf. We haven't much choice at this point."

_**000**_

It was a day later that the first howl of the Wargs reached their ears.

Thorin cursed, shifting the female further up his back. She felt like a fire-brand, her breath hot and dry against the side of his face, the labouring breaths only reminding him how short on time they were and she was slowly being poisoned from the inside by Goblin filth.

"We can't fight with the little one in such a state," Balin fretted.

"_Then we should start running,_" Bifur grunted harshly in Khuzdul.

Dwalin growled, he had never liked the idea of running away from a fight but - "Let's get moving," he growled before turning and giving Kili a small shove forward, the young Prince in Waiting swallowing hard and moving back to his place at the end of the line. Dwalin grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him into the middle. "Don't be daft. We know they're there now. Ain't no need fer you at the back now," he growled before pushing him forwards again as the group started running.

"I hate running," Nori complained as he jogged alongside Bombur who huffed and wheezed.

"Shut up," Dwalin ordered the middle Ri brother brusquely.

They ran through the day, crossing the ford at the shallows and running through the forest as the sun began to set.

It wasn't until they heard the roar that the idea of something else that could attack them being near-by was thought of. The roar that split the air was neither dragon, troll, nor Warg, but it was thick, and deep, and powerful and filled with rage and anger. Thorin swallowed against the knot of fear in his throat when he saw Gandalf's face drain of colour for any beast that could strike fear into the heart of a wizard was not one he wished to trifle with. Was not one he would risk his people against!

"Keep running, you fools!" Gandalf commanded from up ahead, Thorin unable to stop his reflex of making sure his people moved to safety first, gritting his teeth at the heat on his back reminding him of his other responsibility.

"Hurry up Bombur!" Bofur yelped at his brother, grabbing him by his braid and pulling him along behind.

"To the house!" Gandalf called as the group sprinted across the open fields. "RUUN!"

Bombur hit the door first – and bounded off the latched wood. Nori reached it next with Bifur and Gloin close behind.

"Unlatch the door! Unlatch it!" Thorin bellowed as he raced to the house, one hand unsheathing Orcrist, the other supporting the female on his back.

Gloin flicked the latch up and they barged into the wooden house as a great black beast burst out of the woods behind them, rampaging over the field with a thundering roar of anger.

"Get inside! Quickly!" Gandalf roared, sweeping in himself, "Close it! Close the door! Bar it!"

The doors shuddered and strained against them as something collided with the wood, roaring loud enough to rattle their bones.

"What was that thing?" Ori gasped, staring at the door and looking over to Gandalf.

He had a queer expression on his face that they didn't know how to describe, a mix between anxious and revolted. "That was our Host," he stated warily, looking around the house for any other doors in and out. "His name is Beorn. And he is a Skin-Changer... Sometimes he is a huge black bear, other times he is a huge strong Man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man is likeable enough when in a pleasant mood. He is, however, easy to anger. So mind your manners. And do no harm to any living thing here, be it plant or insect. He isn't overfond of Dwarves to begin with, let's not test his temper," the Wizard warned.

"He's leaving!" Ori told them, peering through a gap in the doorframe.

"Get away from there!" Dori hissed, pulling his littlest and (in his mind) most delicate brother back to the safety of the group, "It's not natural! None of it! He must be under some dark spell!"

Gandalf scoffed, "He's under no enchantment but his own. Rest easy tonight, Master Dori, we are safe for now. _I hope_," he mumbled in an undertone, watching as Thorin gently lowered their Hobbit into the huge bed.

_**000**_

Her dreams were chaotic, loud and quiet, full of colour and sound and then silent and dim and grey as if viewed in the dark and heard underwater. She could hear the Dwarves shouting, Gandalf telling them to run, she could feel the world moving around her and arms that carried her, but she couldn't move and it scared her. She was so cold and yet so hot and something thick in her blood pained her.

She twisted and squirmed, too hot for her own skin, unable to get a breath of cool air, feeling as if she were not breathing at all as she panted.

A cool hand rested on her head, the touch casting her mind back, settling her thoughts and reminding her of a huge hairy man with a great bushy beard to set any Dwarf to shame, and kind, beetle black eyes, so easily moved to tears and an almost child-like love of animals able to rip one's face off and the kindness to win their loyalty.

"Hagrid..."

She settled deeper into sleep, her fever-dreams soothed by the cool touch.

_**000**_

When next she woke, she didn't feel quite so awful anymore.

Opening her eyes, she blinked at the ceiling over head with a small frown, it was unfamiliar and too far away to be Hobbit architecture. She would even go so far as saying it was too high to be Mannish.

Slowly, she sat up, gently catching the mouse that had been snuffling about in the folds of her blanket and setting it down at her side as she looked around in wonder. Everything was so _big_. Even the bumblebees she realised as one landed on the edge of her nose, she went cross-eyed and stared at it before laughing in surprise wrinkling her nose and gently blowing it away. She didn't recognise where she was, but there was warm sunlight breeching through the cracks in the wood and the windows overhead, she could smell hay and straw and animals. And hear Bombur snoring as well for that matter. She relaxed, knowing the Dwarves were close by.

Where on Middle Earth were they?

She had... passed out from blood loss after they had escaped Azog. She remembered that much. Then being woken to eat but still feeling shaky and weak and so very tired. After that it was like she had been drowning in mud, hot suffocating mud.

"I see you're feeling better, kitty," greeted a deep baritone growl. She blinked looking up at the _giant_ of a man as he stepped closer on soundless feet. His face was not what she would call handsome, nor noble, or ugly, it was definitely interesting though. With large brown eyes and an easy smile. He was huge, towering over her, and easily over any elf she thought as well – a good three, maybe four times her height. And yet she felt not even a sliver of uncertainty or fear towards him.

"Yes. Did you heal me?" she asked curiously as he knelt in front of the bed and reached up to check her forehead with large cool hands.

"Yes. That scratch on your hip had Goblin blood in it," he explained growling briefly in his throat before ruffling her still loose curls. "Let me see. I want to be certain," he told her bluntly, much like Baradal at his most gruff. So she did as he asked, pulling aside the blankets and rolling onto her side so that he could pull the edge of her trousers down to see the wound properly. He rumbled happily at the sight of it. "The black blood is gone. You are lucky, kitty, much longer and you would have been lost to the black fever," he told her.

She nodded, "Then you have my deepest thanks, sir," she told him, feeling the band of her trousers return to where it was and the giant man who reminded her so dearly of Hagrid move away. She rolled back over and sat up.

"I am Beorn. What should I call you, kitty?" he asked, tilting his head and eyeing her curiously.

She debated for a moment but one look at her chest pretty much confirmed that her gender ruse was a bust. There was no reason to hide, especially from this being. "My name is Willowyn. I would like it if you called me Willow though," she told him.

"Of course, kitty," he said, grinning unrepentantly. She sighed with a rueful smile. As far as nicknames went, she had received worse in her time. She shifted to the edge of the bed in order to wriggle down – only to end up getting scooping into one arm by the huge man. "And where do you think you're going?" he asked, looking down at her in amusement.

She huffed, "To wash, Master Beorn. I am covered in sweat and blood and filth from the Misty Mountains and I do not like the feel of it one bit. Is there somewhere out of sight that I can scrub clean without being disturbed?" she asked curiously.

He nodded, "Yes. There is the well outside. I will keep your Dwarves from bothering you," he assured her, gracefully loping through the building and out through the door.

"Oh!" she gasped, staring at the surroundings in wonder. Wild flowers and trees and all manner of green things, birds that sang and chirped and landed on her shoulders and head in curiosity. Butterflies as large as her face and bees as long as her finger drifted through the air. Grey dogs rolled through the grasses playing with one another and she could see a group of ponies and horses, all gorgeous with their coats healthy and gleaming, their eyes bright and intelligent, grazing and playing in the fields.

Beorn grinned at her obvious delight before setting her down at a small collection of stones beside the spring, "Call me when you wish to come back. You should not be walking with that scratch as it is," he told her before ruffling her hair once again and moving back inside with that long, easy stride.

She giggled as one of the ponies came over to investigate her, nosing curiously at her hair.

"Hello, aren't you beautiful?" she wondered, stroking the creature's muzzle softly. The pony tossed its head and whickered softly at her before moving to take a drink at the spring. She chuckled and began to unbutton her shirt, it was filthy with crushed mushroom, sweat (some of it smelling more than a little suspiciously like Dwarf), mud, and blood. Completely unsalvageable. She sighed as she slowly shifted to ease her trousers off. As were these. Only her underwear was salvageable but right now they were more brown than white with dried blood.

Her arms and legs and stomach were patterned with bruises big and small. The largest being the one that occupied her hip. That was a real doozy of a bruise. The stitches holding the gouge were neat and clean – Oin's work – and she could see where the infection had been dealt with. There were pink lines branching out and away from the stitches in almost silvery scars inside of her, they stood out very clearly on the dark purple of her bruise. Almost like white-spider's silk on black coal. She scraped the worst of the mud and blood off using a sharp-edged stone, leaving her skin pink and a little sore but clean in the aftermath. She dunked her head in and rubbed furiously at her hair to get as much gunk out as she could, trying to ignore how the cold of the water made her head wound _burn_.

In all, by the time she was finished, it was a much cleaner, happier, and refreshed Willow who called Beorn to come and get her (she had decided to put on her dirty clothes for lack of anything else).

_**000**_

**And ta'dah!**

**As you can no doubt tell, I'm leaning more on Book!Beorn than Movie!Beorn. They're a mix, yes, but I prefer Book!Beorn. He's more fun.**

**Thus endeth Willowyn's brief stint as a Damsel in Distress.**

**I always thought it beyond unlikely that Bilbo came out of that fall without injuries, injuries that could only too easily get infected considering what he had to run through in order to get out. Hence why I had Willow get sick with infection. Mild-realism, also because I wanted to deepen her trust in the Dwarves and this was a good plot device to make it happen.**


	10. Beorn

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER NINE – Beorn**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**Thorin woke at the sound of a door.**

Jerking awake with a grunt of displeasure (everything ached and he was _so_ tired), he gave the room a quick look over. Fili and Kili were beside him, the younger of his nephews(sons) clinging to the elder and drooling across his shoulder, he smirked a little at the sight but decided not to tease the lad as he once would have. Dwalin was on their otherside, leaning against one of the wooden posts, head on his own chest, sleeping deeply, sword across his thighs. Balin was between them and the Ri siblings, the bruises he gained in the mountains standing out starkly on his pale skin making him look older still. Thorin winced in guilt. Balin was not a young Dwarf, the fall of Erebor had aged him greatly in body and spirit making him look far older than his two-hundred and eighty years. Ori was sandwiched between his brothers as usual, clinging to Dwalin's warhammer like a teddybear (the older warrior had told him to keep it as it was a far better suited weapon to his hands compared to that slingshot). Bombur snored deeply in a small beam of light, a small content smile on his face as he wriggled every now and again, clearly enjoying the warmth, Bifur slept sat up as always, his head resting on his knees as he would not roll over and aggravate the axe within his head, Bofur's coat rested over his shoulders while the Dwarf in question slept curled up on the straw under a blanket still and silent enough that if he hadn't seen his chest rise and fall he would have been concerned. Gloin slept on Thorin's otherside, grumbling in his sleep restlessly as he always did when parted from the bed of his wife. Oin was sleeping beside their Hobbit's bed, just in case her condition worsened. And Gandalf was sleeping with his eyes open again, just across from them in one of the stalls, using one of their host's cows as a pillow, though the creature didn't seem to mind as she peaceably chewed her cud without a care in the world.

He grimaced, shifting to take some pressure off his ribs, perhaps he should not have insisted on carrying their Hobbit yesterday, especially not with that mad run across the fields. Speaking of.

He got to his feet quietly and more than a little gracelessly. With every soul in the room sleeping, he could afford to be less than the King he was, he could show his discomfort plainly without having to swallow it down and hide it away. Carefully, so as not to wake them, he stepped between the tangled legs of his nephews (sons), and his personal guard (bestfriend-brother) and advisor (uncle-brother) and made his way to the otherside of the house and up the stairs to where Oin and the female were sleeping. Their healer was snoring away quite peaceably against the bottom bedpost, wrapped in his blanket, his herbs and ointments, what few he had left, spread out on a cloth on the floor beside him.

But when he looked to their Hobbit, he felt his blood turn cold.

She was gone.

And all that was left were bloodied sheets smeared with filth.

He turned, furious, and kicked Oin awake none to gently, "Where did she go! Oin, WAKE UP! WHERE IS OUR HALFLING!" he roared, probably waking the whole house he realised without care as he heard Bombur snort and choke, and Gloin start swearing.

"What? Halving of what?!" Oin demanded, as he grunted and slowly got to his feet.

Impatient, angry, Thorin grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, jerking him around to point at the empty bed, "WHERE IS THE FEMALE OIN!" he bellowed in the suddenly horror-struck healer's face.

"I – I don't know! There's no way she'da been able te walk on that leg! She shouldn't even be awake!" he spluttered in horror.

"Stop shouting, Dwarves," rumbled a voice like thunder, making the whole group freeze as a huge shadow loomed out of the darkness. "Your kitty is washing outside," the shadow stated as it came into the light, the abnormally giant Man leering down at them with a thick beard and a chestful of wiry black hair.

Thorin dropped their healer and glared up at the huge Man-beast, "If you have harmed her in _any_ way-" he growled darkly.

The Man threw his head back and laughed heartily.

Thorin ground his teeth at the condescending dismissal of his anger as the giant strode past them and began to rummage in one of the chests against the far wall, still chuckling.

"I don't like Dwarves," he announced suddenly, all laughter gone, "But how you treat your females is good. That I like," he told them as he tugged out a large green shirt. "Your female is fine. I healed her during the night. She is bathing outside, as I said."

"Well, that is a relief to hear, Master Beorn. You have our thanks," Gandalf interrupted, before Thorin could swallow his embarrassment and pride to extend his own gratitude and apologies. The Dwarven King grimaced briefly before nodding.

"Truly, we are in your debt," he told the large being as he bowed his head.

He snorted dismissively, "I have no need of your debt," he told them bluntly as he returned to his rummaging leaving the Dwarves to exchange looks of uncertainty and bruised pride, Gandalf however looked torn between anxiousness and amused indignation. The Master of the House made a noise of triumph and pulled a small wicker basket from within the chest which he laid upon a table to the side before confronting them with an unnerving stare, "I have yet to know who you are and what you're doing here in my house," he reminded them flatly.

"I am Gandalf," their Wizard announced, trying to sooth an argument before it broke out.

"Never heard of him," the Skin-Changer told them bluntly as he turned the shirt he was handling inside out.

Gandalf tilted his head to one side in amused disbelief, "I am a wizard," he continued as the giant wetted the edge of a length of thread before carefully slipping it through the eye of a very fine bone needle, a needle so fine, that it looked like it did not belong between the powerful fingers of the wild-man. "I have heard of you, if you have not heard of me; but perhaps you have heard of my good cousin Radagast who lives near the Southern borders of the forest?" he queried as the Dwarves shifted uncertainly.

He nodded as he began to sew the shirt, not paying them overly much attention, "Yes. Not a bad fellow as wizards go, I believe. I used to see him now and again. And the rest of the group?" he asked, looking in particular at Thorin.

"Thorin Oakenshield, at your service," the King Under the Mountain announced stiffly, bowing politely.

"I don't need your service, thank you. But I expect you need mine." The giant abandoned his sewing for a moment, kneeling down to look at the Dwarf closely, Thorin stubbornly holding his ground and jutting his chin up defiantly as Beorn glowered suspiciously at him, "If it is true you are Thorin, Son of Thrain, son of Thror, I believe, and your companions are respectable...What are you doing on my lands?" he demanded.

The longer he spent around this being the more the Dwarven King was uncertain as to whether or not he _liked_ the blunt manner in which he conducted himself, or found it insulting.

"We are on our way to the land of our Fathers, past the forest to the east," Thorin declared before Gandalf could speak for him _again_, "We had not intended trespass onto your lands if not for our poor luck in running afoul of the mountain Goblins and a party of Orcs. As you can no doubt guess, the majority of our supplies were stolen, and our female was gravely injured. Were our circumstances not dire, we would not have sought to disturb you, Bear Master," he told the being truthfully, guessing from their interaction thus far that honesty would get him a lot further than anything else with this being.

Those queer eyes, too large and strange of colour observed him even longer before the giant grunted and stood. "Goblins and Orcs..." he sneered, pacing past the group. "And the rest of you? Who're you?" he demanded and so it went, each of their party introducing themselves to the giant as he collected things from around the house and laid them on the table.

It wasn't until cups were being laid out that the Dwarves realised they were being fed and brightened up considerably.

Then they heard their Burglar's voice, she sounded fine, and the group piled towards the windows as their Host stepped out to go and get her. They could see their Hobbit sat by the river in her bloody, dirty clothes, her long hair wet and heavy down her back as the giant loped over to her side. He crouched briefly in front of her and they exchanged words before he placed a hand on her head, easily dwarfing it in his massive palm before lifting her like a child and tucking her under one arm and returning. She was laughing, seemingly completely at ease with their very large and _dangerous_ host.

The door opened and their host ducked in, Hobbit in arm.

Thorin ignored the relief that rushed through him in favour of the irritation, "You," he growled, glaring at her and was a mix between pleased that her smile fell and guilty for it, "Do not worry us like that," he grit out making her blink in surprise.

"We didn't know where you'd gone!" Ori piped up accusingly.

Bofur nodded, "Next time ye want to give us a heart-attack, save poor Oin some bruises an' do it on someone else's watch. The old Dwarf's a might bit delicate!" he teased and grinned as he was forced to dance behind Bifur as said 'old Dwarf' tried to tear his leg off and beat him with the soggy end.

Willow laughed, "I'm sorry I worried you. I figured you would have wanted more sleep though," she pointed out as Beorn gently lowered her onto the bed.

Thorin huffed, she wasn't wrong, but on the other hand, "Tell us next time," he grit out while mentally deciding that there would not _be_ a next time because she was getting a guard, one more effective than Oin he added watching as the healer checked her over carefully, his mouth hanging open in shock at her wounds.

"_I don't understand. They were killing her last night and now there isn't a sign of infection at all,_" he muttered in Khuzdul, "_They look almost healed! What sorcery is this?_"

What sorcery indeed, Thorin wondered, glaring at the back of the Bear Master as he vanished into his larder for bread and cheese.

_**000**_

For all that he was intimidating, it was hard to be wary, or even fearful, of the Bear Changer when he fussed and coddled their Hobbit who, true to her new nickname, held absolutely no fear of him (going so far as to slap his hands when she felt them moving to unappreciated places much to the Giant's hilarity as he boomed with laughter). In their conversations, she had managed to wrangle food and supplies, even ponies, from the giant in exchange for their whole story and labour around his land, milking the cows, gathering honey, cutting the crops and grinding grain, even fixing some of the shelters for the animals. All work that they could do with ease in a short amount of time with their numbers. She had even taken on several of the tasks herself despite protests – stubbornly pointing out that she would be sitting down as she milked the cows and had any of them except for Bombur ever ground grain? No? Well then let her do one of the jobs she knew how to do then.

While this work went on, Gandalf poured over his map muttering to himself as he smoked, and Beorn continued to sew his shirt and overlook their efforts.

They slept one more night in the giant's hall, Willow being unceremoniously tucked into the Master's bed before he stomped out of the building, telling them in no uncertain terms that if they stepped outside before dawn broke across the horizon they would be killed. They were not to leave the house until dawn. And then he left them for the evening.

They slept well and by the time dawn broke and the group were awake again, Thorin's ribs were no longer aching, their bruises had faded, and Willowyn was limping her way around the hall, sweeping and generally cleaning up after them. By the time Master Beorn returned, Dori and Bombur had jumped in to help her and the group had managed to clean up after themselves, pack their belongings, and even feed the animals.

The giant stepped in, covered in scratches and grinning fiercely as he loomed over the Dwarven King. "It was a good story, that one of yours," he said, grinning toothily, "but I like it better now that I am sure it is true. You must forgive my not taking your word. I shall think more kindly of Dwarves after this. Killed the Great Goblin," he chuckled fiercely to himself before sweeping past the King and to Willow, "I can only say that I have hurried home as fast as I could to see that you were safe and to offer you any help that I can. Not eaten up by Wargs or Goblins or Wicked Bears yet, I see," he then lifted the Hobbit from her seat and perched her upon his shoulder, prodding her stomach, "Little kitty is getting nice and fat as she should on bread and honey. Come, eat more, all of you."

"I take it you ran into our pursuers in the night then?" Gandalf asked grimly as they sat at the giant's table for breakfast once again, the large man handing a plate piled high with bread, honey, and cheese to the lass on his shoulder.

He nodded, "I will show you after breakfast," he said with a rather macabre grin that showed off a number of entirely too sharp teeth and made those queerly coloured eyes of his gleam predatorily in the bright morning light that streamed in through the windows overhead.

Once they had finished eating, Beorn lead them all outside and presented them a tree just outside of his property.

Willow blanched, "Oh god," she gagged, covering her mouth and looking away.

A Goblin's head was stuck on a post in front of the tree, the wood going up the creature's throat, its tongue hanging out of its mouth and its eyes having already started to attract flies and the like. Nailed to the tree behind it was the skin of a huge brown Warg. It had not been removed gently.

Beorn grinned at the reactions his little presentation garnered as he reached up and rubbed Willow's leg reassuringly, the girl keeping her eyes shut so she wouldn't have to look at it any longer.

After that, they told him the parts they had left out of their story the first time, where they were going, why, the paths they planned to take to get there. The giant hummed unhappily, the Hobbit sat in his lap as he rubbed his chin. What happened next was a flurry of preparation. Ponies were saddled, bags provided and filled with food and water skins (which they would fill before they entered the forest) and medicinal herbs and ointments. Willow had asked some fairly pointed questions about how long it would take them to get through the forest and even more food was then added to their rather weighty loads along with an extra long rope (in case they ever had to step off the path), and a lantern for the darker areas so they could _see_ the path. It was after they finished what was to be their last lunch at the giant's home that he took their Hobbit aside, out of sight for a moment.

She returned, the rags she had been wearing previously gone from sight, instead, she wore a long dress that looked remarkably like the shirt Beorn had been mending for the last day. He had adjusted the underarms and taken it in at the waist so that it functioned well enough as a dress. She avoided their eyes as she took her pack, frowning at how light it was and shooting a glare at the nearest Dwarf – Dwalin – who studiously ignored her look as he hauled his own up onto his back with both hands and a grunt of effort. Fine, if he wanted to overburden himself, he could.

The group saddled up, thirteen fine skewbald ponies for the Dwarves and Willow, and a large handsome black stallion for Gandalf.

Beorn nodded as he looked them over, "Go quickly and remember, do not eat or drink what you find within the woods. There is but one stream there, I know, black and strong, which crosses the path you plan to follow. Do not touch it, or drink from it. It carries a dark enchantment of sleep and forgetfulness. You must not step off the path. Go now, before you are overtaken. Worry not about my ponies, they know the way home, leave them at the gates and they will return to me," he told the group.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Master Beorn," Thorin intoned respectfully. The giant having become one of the few Tall-Folk to have gained his respect in the days they spent under his protection.

"Take care of the kitty," was the response that floated over to them as they spurred their ponies on and out of his lands.

_**000**_

They rode for two days before reaching the elven path through Mirkwood.

Willow shivered under the oil-skin Dori had lent her to shield her from the worst of the rain as they came to a halt in front of the treeline. But her shiver wasn't one of chill. No.

_There was something wrong with that forest_.

Sick, infected, or she wasn't a Hobbit.

"I do not like this place," she admitted quietly to Balin, the Elderly Dwarf looking at her in surprise, "There is something wrong with that forest. It is sick. Poisoned. Is... is there no way round?" she asked warily, looking at him beseechingly.

"No unless you want to go some two-hundred miles north," Thorin interrupted blandly, "Or over twice that south and up again." He patted the female on the shoulder, "We shall just have to steel ourselves and walk quickly."

Green eyes stared solemnly up at him for a moment before sliding away to stare into the forest, "You don't feel it, do you? The shadow. It has been growing the closer we get to this place. Something moves within those trees. Something we should not risk taking note of us."

"Your senses are good, Mistress Proudfoot," Gandalf declared as he marched past them to his horse, waving Dori and Gloin away from it, "I will need you to use them to keep our Dwarves out of trouble," he told her as he took the reigns.

"You're not staying?" Dori asked in dismay as the wizard swung up onto his mount.

"No. As our Burglar has said. There is a shadow growing here, the same one Radagast warned us of earlier. The White Council has bade me look into it. I will meet you at the high footholds of Erebor," he told them looking severely at the King, "Do not enter that mountain without me. Keep the map and key safe. I will return as soon as I can."

And with that he was gone, leaving behind a group of very irritated and dismayed Dwarves, and one fearful Hobbit who had a bad, sickeningly familiar, feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling she had not had for over a lifetime.

_**000**_

**Da-dun! Originally this chapter was much longer, but I cut it in half because if I hadn't I would have ended up with a ten page monster before I reached the next cut off point. Plus, this was a good place to cut off XDDD**


	11. Mirkwood

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER TEN – Mirkwood **

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**She found herself set between the warriors of the group, towards the front of the party.** Apparently their Dwarvish King was just as unsettled by the forest as she was and thus willing to take Gandalf's words about her senses to heart. She, never the less, decided she hated this forest as she stepped carefully over tree roots that threatened to up end her, cringed away from the black squirrels and their eyes that gleamed with unnatural intelligence (unlike the eagles, unlike Beorn's dogs, those eyes felt wrong), she flinched every time she heard an unfamiliar sound or one that was so distorted that it made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight. And the eyes. The eyes she could feel lingering on her skin, on their group as a whole as they searched their way through along the path, through the suffocating dark.

Occasionally she would feel Balin touch her back as they walked, apparently she was handling this place worse than the rest of them. She wondered how they couldn't feel it. The heavy cloying air that whispered and hung upon them, trying to weigh them down. The eyes that waited. Or the shadows that touched and tried to suck at their legs. She shivered again, gripping her blade hilt tightly.

Nights were the worst.

She couldn't sleep. The sounds grated at her ears, her skin crawled and whenever she closed her eyes the eyes... she felt as if there were something hovering over her head ready to drag her into the darkness.

She could not sleep and as the days wore on, that only became more obvious as she huddled into the blanket across her shoulders and trudged after Thorin, Balin at her back, her eyes flitting this way and that, shivering with anxiousness. She did not like to think herself cowardly, if but one of those beasts would step onto the path she would _gladly_ face them – face them and put an _end_ to her fears. But she could not see them, could not find them, and the feeling of being stalked was never one she had grown comfortable with. The whispers that swam around her unsettling her nerves, the air, the eyes, everything.

She hated this place.

The further in they got, the darker it became until they could tell neither day from night, and had to light their lamps in order to keep the path within their sight. Without the passing of the sun, the group lost track of days and time, merely stopping to sleep when most felt sleepy. And despite her fears, not even she could stave off sleep for long and passed into a deep exhausted slumber filled with whispers and things that hissed at her in the dark.

From the maps they had read, they knew that the enchanted river was their mid-way mark, it was a cause for concern that they had not yet reached it. And despite their extreme care with their provisions, Bombur reported one morn that they were down to half supplies, even though Willow had managed to talk so much for them out of Beorn.

They tried to shoot the queer black squirrels, but once they managed to land one upon the path and roast it, the Dwarves discovered its meat bitter and disgusting (Willow had declined to even try eating such a creature).

It was with great relief that they finally came across the enchanted river they had been warned of.

Willow ducked under Thorin's arm so she could see without the lamp-light blinding her and squinted across the rushing black water, she felt the King catch her arm as she leaned forward, fearful that she might tumble into the river.

"I can see a boat on the far bank. I can't see a tie, just pulled onto the bank. No oars though. About thirty five, thirty six feet away, directly in front of us," she told the group before leaning back, feeling Thorin pull her back behind him eyeing the water distrustfully.

"It may as well be thirty miles at that distance," he growled before looking down at her in curiosity, "You can see that far?" he asked.

She nodded, "Hobbits have good eyesight," she told him before glancing over her shoulder to the rest of the group, "I asked Beorn for rope. Who has it? Perhaps we can hook it or something?" Willow suggested, she had seen her Brandybuck cousins do the same with their little ferry on the Brandywine.

Thorin hummed, "Dori is the strongest, but Kili has the best sight. Unless you think you can manage it, Mistress Proudfoot?" he asked, looking down at her.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Willow?" she griped before a grinning Fili handed her the rope. "And yes, I've done this before. My cousin Barry Brandybuck runs the Buckleberry Ferry back in the Shire. Stand back," she told him as the hook from Bifur's rather old fashioned pack was handed to her (a large basket with a hook to attach it to the straps over his shoulders, it was that hook she now used). The girl spun it carefully to get a feel for its weight, causing the Dwarves to step back away from her before she flicked it across the bank.

"Too far," she grunted, slowly tugging it back out of the undergrowth and through the river. She swung it back into her hand and began again.

"Take your time. We can't afford to lose the boat. Better safe than sorry," Thorin reminded her.

Personally, she would have been perfectly happy to turn around and go the long way north, anything to avoid having to cross this awful black river of unknown depth and powerful enchantments. But this was the fastest way through, and as Balin had explained to her, they were on a timelimit to reclaim Erebor.

She flung the hook again and grinned in triumph when it landed in the boat.

"Get ready," she called to the others as she planted her feet and began to pull, much to her embarrassment Dori had to help – but even with him pulling as hard as he could, there was nothing. She shifted away and Gloin took her place, soon joined by Oin, Fili and Kili. Eventually, something gave and the boat launched towards them as the Dwarves tumbled back with cries of surprise.

She yelped and grabbed the rope before it could send their boat down the river. "Catch it!" she called as Balin dropped to his knees and reached out across the half-rotted broken bridge to catch it by the side and bring it in close.

Willow shifted to the back of the group away from the boat, she did not wish to get on that thing until she had absolutely no choice, something she stated very clearly when Thorin stated that she would be going with him and his nephews. He looked ready to argue but one clear look at her face and he huffed in resignation.

It took a while for the Dwarves to cross the river, ferrying themselves between the two hooked ropes. It wasn't until it was time for Willow and Dwalin – Bombur had been sent with the other group as no one was happy about leaving their female without a warrior escort, not that they said as such being well aware of how she would treat _that_ comment – to cross when the girl held a hand up to stop him.

"Do you hear that?" she asked softly, ears straining over the sound of rushing water, it sounded like... "Hooves?" she asked in bewilderment.

A clamour suddenly kicked up on the otherside of the river and Dwalin yanked her backwards behind him as a pure white beast landed in front of them, and staggered, the shaft of an arrow buried deep within his throat.

"Oh..." Willow froze, staring at the stag in astonishment, memories of a by-gone life flickering before her eyes. "Patronus," she breathed only to cry out in shock as the creature staggered on a few more steps and fell, bleating in pain and then falling silent.

Dwalin sighed heavily and set his weapon aside, "Well," he announced in pleasure, "Looks like we won't be going hungry just yet!" he declared happily, not noticing the turmoil of the Hobbit as she stared down at the snow-white stag.

She watched in silence as the stag was loaded onto the boat, she collected their hook and rope from this side and, taking a deep breath, crawled into the boat, clinging to the side with white knuckles and eyes clenched tight as she tried to think of _anything_ but being on a boat over deep water. She bit her lip harshly, tasting the sickly tang of blood in her mouth.

"Almost there, lassie," Dwalin's voice assured her, a moment later they heard voices and Dwalin's snorting laugh, "Someone either has a lot of faith in us, or he's an idiot. Who ordered Venison?" he demanded playfully of the celebrating Dwarves as he hauled the stag onto the bank.

"Eyes open, Mistress Proudfoot," Fili's voice teased as she felt arms come around her and easily lift her free of the boat, "You're on dry land now," he assured her as her feet touched down on wet mud and slimy weeds, but ground all the same. She relaxed, almost slumping against him as she opened her eyes.

"I hate boats," she confided, the blond Dwarf laughing.

"We couldn't tell," Kili told her with a grin as she smiled weakly at them. It was a rather silly fear compared to everything _else_ they had been through so far.

It was a merry group that sat around the fire that night, uncaring as to the eyes that gathered by the hundred to watch them in the gloom, or by the moths that fluttered to the flame, mesmerised by the bright light. They had butchered the stag, every strip of flesh they could. Dori had claimed the skin and antlers, informing her with a proud puff of his chest that he was a weaver, the handling of cloth and leather was his speciality. The pure snow white pelt of the stag would go very well with the scraps of cloth he had gathered and saved on their journey and the horns he could make into an abundance of buttons and toggles and even needles with which to do his sewing. He gave her a careful look up and down and nodded to himself before getting to work on the deer skin. The meat was cooked and dried, the majority of it was wrapped and put into their packs to fill the spaces that their already eaten supplies once rested.

It seemed that the good luck of the white stag had greatly lifted the group's spirits as they walked on through the darkness, Fili and Kili were back to their old antics, Dori was fussing with carving the antlers into buttons while Ori was discussing how to use a hammer in battle with Dwalin (the older warrior being thoroughly amused and indulgent of the younger who had yet to return said hammer after their escape from the Goblin City). Even Thorin's temper, which seemed to always be set to grumpy, surly, broody, or enraged, seemed to have soothed away into something approaching pleasant as he discussed logistics with an interested Gloin (who was apparently an accountant and jeweller) and Balin (who despite being a warrior had also been one of the advisers to the throne and in charge of a lot of Erebor's economics). Bombur was humming cheerfully and discussing with his cousin Bifur about the recipes he knew for venison and how long they would be able to stretch the meat out for the journey (only a few days at most, but it was a few days of high energy good meat that would take a while for their bodies to go through).

Her only complaint would be that Bofur had been pestering her for songs for almost (two?) days now.

"I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, Master Dwarf! I don't sing!" she laughed as she pushed his face away from her own.

"Come now! Everybody sings!" he told her playfully.

"Well, allow me to correct myself then, I don't sing in front of other people!" she exclaimed laughing. Much too embarrassing. It was one thing to sing for Bilbo as he liked her voice, but another to sing for anyone else. And having heard the fair voices of the elves, her mother's constant singing as a child, and Berry Bolger's performances at the oak tree and the Green Dragon, she could claim absolutely no musical talent in the art of song.

"Good thing we aren't '_other people_' then, ain't it?" he asked with a roguish smile.

She grinned and shook her head, "You aren't going to let this go, are you?" she asked in exasperation.

"Absolutely not. C'mon, lass, give us a tune! Anythin' you like!" he declared, gesturing grandly.

She took a breath only to laugh instead, "I can't do it, I feel too silly!" she exclaimed, snorting in embarrassment. "Oh to go back to the days when you were too suspicious of me to try and force a song from me!"

"Ah it would'a happened sooner or later! We love a singsong, we do," he told her cheerfully, gesturing to the whole group. "S'a little known secret that almost every Dwarf likes a nice tunnel, a good contract, and a sing along with his ale!"

"Now I know you're making things up!"

"It's true!" Bofur exclaimed with a grin, hand over his heart. "C'mon, lass, s'just us here," he told her, gesturing to the rest of the group.

Dwalin snorted, "Quit badgering the lass," he chided in amusement.

Bofur waved him off with a grin, "Can't help it. It's been many a month since I heard a voice that doesn't sound like grinding rock!" he pointed out with a chuckle.

She shook her head, he had a point, what could it hurt?

"_Lost in darkest blue  
Endless labyrinths weaving through  
Will you stagger on,  
with no star to light your way?  
Share with me your tears  
all your troubles and deepest fears  
I remember when  
you chased all my shadows away"_

She didn't notice when the conversations around her tapered off as she fought to remember the song her mother once sang to her. Holly Took had loved to sing, she did it as often as she could. When she put Willow to bed, when she washed her hair, as she did the dishes or kneaded bread for dinner. She would hum as she tended the gardens and washed the laundry. It was just one of the many habits of her mother's that she held dear to her heart, one of the few that she shared with Bilbo alone. She had tried to sing once to her father when she came upon him crying not long after her mother's death only for him to fly into a terrible rage and bellow at her to go away.

"_Won't you take my hand?  
Come away with me from this land  
Let me give to you  
all that you have given to me  
fly horizon bound  
find the moon behind darkening clouds  
even far apart,  
know our souls together will be"_

It was hard not to remember the woman from her childhood. Her vivid rose red hair, the smell of her skin like sweet grass in summer sunshine and the baking bread she almost always had on the go. She didn't smoke and often told her father off for smoking in the house, she would plant her hands on her hips and square her legs and tower over her husband until she got her way. Her eyes were the most expressive part of her face, they would crinkle and crease as she laughed. They would narrow and sharpen with displeasure and light up in delight with every new experience.

Oh, Willow missed her dearly.

Perhaps if her mother hadn't died, her father would not have grown so bitter and angry and hateful towards her. Maybe the people of the Shire would care less about her peculiarities because Holly would just laugh full in their faces and proudly declare her a Tookish Warrior of ages past, proudly reminding them of her ancestor the Bullroarer and silencing their protests of lady-ship with tales of queens who rode into battle alongside their husbands and of the elvish maidens who slew orcs and goblins alongside their men folk.

"_When the storm draws nigh  
dreams will shatter before your eyes  
know that you are not alone  
when the battle starts  
I will comfort your restless heart  
you'll know that you are home_

"_when your star stops shining  
endless vines around you winding  
know that you're not alone  
I will give my all  
so your tears will no longer fall  
down, down on sorrow's stone_

"_Look_ – uh... _Look into_, blast!" she cursed before blushing, "I'm sorry. I can't remember the rest!" And she didn't know what she felt was more distressing, that she had forgotten the lyrics to one of the songs her own mother had written, or that she had done so in front of an audience.

"Well, I was hoping for somethin' a little more cheerful, but that was very – pretty?" Bofur squeaked in surprise as a metal arrowhead glinted under his nose.

Exclamations of surprise went up amidst the Dwarves as they realised they weren't alone.

Willow went still as she looked up into the face of an unfamiliar elf, his bow and arrow aimed just beneath her chin, his face stony and his eyes cold. They had slipped out of the forest and had them surrounded before they even knew they were there! Why were they – they weren't Orcs or Goblins!

She leaned back uncertainly, of all beings to attack them elves had not even made the list.

"Do not think I will not kill you _dwarf_. It would be my pleasure," she head a melodic voice announce from up ahead and froze, her expression hardening.

So.

Racist Elves.

"Search them!" commanded the voice and she grit her teeth in anger as her blade was taken.

"_An ancient Elvish blade?_" the male who searched her breathed in shock as he unsheathed the small dagger she had been given by Gandalf – and later by Arwen when she tried to return it to the one she felt it belonged to. The Lady had laughed at her and clasped it tight into her fingers before telling her that it was hers now, the metal would sing for no other but her touch until the day she fell in battle, such was the way of elvish blades that accepted their wielders.

She jutted her chin out, "_A gift from your kin in Rivendell_," she bit out sharply, making the elf draw back as if slapped in shock. He visibly floundered for a moment, obviously not expecting her to know their tongue, before gesturing a red headed female over.

He presented the blade to her, "_She speaks Sindarin. She claims that her blade was a gift from the Elves of Rivendell,_" he intoned respectfully, handing the blade to the red head and stepping away, so, she was in a position of some authority here.

She was a beautiful elf-maiden, not nearly as lovely as Arwen, but hers was a very different kind of beauty. While Arwen was akin to starlight on silk, this maiden was more like autumn leaves in a late summer forest, a beauty that was closer to home and warmer still for it. Her summer-grass eyes observed Willow and yet again, made her feel dirty and small in the shirt Beorn had so kindly adjusted for her, now caked in dust and sweat from so many weeks travel without change, tied over her shoulders and under the straps of her pack was a spare blanket acting as a shawl.

"_What do you call yourself?_" the elf-maiden asked.

"_Willowyn Proudfoot, m'lady,_" she said flatly, glancing briefly to the others who were all in the process of having their weaponry removed.

"_And how do you come by these parts?_" the elf continued, her tone almost condescending.

Willow bristled, "_We are passing through, m'lady. We mean no harm or insult, we just wish to reach the otherside of this forest without trouble._"

"_And yet you carry the blades of our kin and trespass into our lands with a heavily armed group of Dwarves, one of whom carries a _named_ blade of Gondolin,"_ the female pointed out dryly.

"As I told your companion, they were given to us by the elves of Rivendell!" Willow finally snapped in Common, her patience having reached its end as she turned her head to the blond currently insulting Gloin, or rather, the picture he kept of his wife and son, "And kindly cease speaking in such a tone to him! He has given you no insult thus far, there is absolutely no call for it!" she snarled bristling protectively much as she would have if someone had taken such tone with Bilbo.

The elves exchanged looks of shock before a sharp order in a dialect of elvish she was unfamiliar with was issued from the blond she had just snapped at.

Suddenly the elves were pushing them along, Dwalin and Bofur snarling at them not to touch her as the group began moving through the trees following the path as it widened and – she felt herself stumble and blanch. Go over a thin stone bridge above a river. She felt Dwalin's hand on her arm and tried to swallow back her shaking as she locked her eyes onto the back of Bofur's head. She only relaxed once they were over but Dwalin still did not remove his hand, glaring fit to kill at any elf that came close he hustled her closer to the main group as they were escorted into the lower levels of the elvish settlement.

Without water being at the bottom of the long drops on either side, she felt a lot more comfortable looking around the large cave as they walked along what felt like large tree-roots through limestone caverns. It was beautiful, as could only be expected of the elves but... she preferred Rivendell despite its rivers and deep waters. There was no sense of peace here. And no kindness to be found with their hosts she decided as they were split up and shoved into small dark cells in the lower halls. All save for Thorin who had been split away from them despite their loud protests some time ago.

She glowered at the elf-maiden as she was pushed in, "Why are you doing this?" she asked, "We have done no crime."

"It is my Prince's order," the female said simply.

Willow growled unhappily, "Simply because of that? And for what reason has he ordered such? We have. Done. No. Crime."

The female shook her head, "I cannot say. I do not know my lord's mind or his reasoning. It is only my place to do as I am ordered."

The Hobbit scoffed as she sat on the stone, glaring at the far wall, "Unthinking respect for Authority is the greatest enemy of Truth. You are nothing more than a tool," she complained in disgust.

There was a moment of stilted silence before the gate was closed and locked behind the elf-maiden, and Willow was left alone where she drew her knees up to her chest miserably. If Gandalf were here, this whole incident could have been averted, the Wizard seemed to know everyone and have friends everywhere with enough goodwill to let him come and go as he pleased. Her fingers found their way to her breast pocket, where she had put Bilbo's ring after Beorn made her the dress.

She wondered what he was doing right now as her fingers grazed the warm gold.

She hoped he wasn't lonely, or hungry. He grew a lot of his own vegetables, and his tomatoes were considered the best in the village, enough so that he could trade a basket of them for any choice cut of pork or beef he desired. Not to mention he was still well thought of amongst the Shire, no one would let him starve. And now that she was out of the picture, there would be a never ending march of young ladies inviting Mister Baggins to their hole for afternoon tea in the hopes he would take a fancy to them. Who knew, they might succeed. Bilbo had a heart that loved all too easy and forgave all too quickly. Why, if he had come on this venture, she wouldn't be surprised to find him pining after one of the Dwarves in their party!

She smiled a little to herself as she fiddled with the ring. She doubted he would have been taken with Dwalin. A good Dwarf with a steady hand, but she knew he would frighten her dear friend. Fili and Kili were too young in heart and reminded her too dearly of her Tookish and Brandybuck cousins, so Bilbo would likely as not feel the same. Nori was a bit of a sticky beak and always getting into other people's business, if what Ori had confided in her was any indication, his grey haired brother was a bit of a crook. Dori was a tad too fussy for him to take much note of, though she didn't doubt he would be fond of the strong Dwarf. Bofur she could see, he was merry and friendly, he liked his food and enjoyed a good smoke. Yes. She could see Bilbo liking him. He wasn't bad to look at either with that cheeky smile of his.

The thought of Thorin was discarded just as quickly as Dwalin. The Dwarven King was very intense, and often grumpy. She could not see Bilbo becoming overly fond of such negativity. In his better moments, yes, perhaps she could see affection grow between the two, but that temper was something Bilbo would fear. He had not been forced over much to defend himself from negativity with Willow there to absorb most of it, he would be quite startled and frightened to have it suddenly turned onto him.

She wished he were here, if only for one of those big soft hugs he liked to spring on her once in a while. She missed them, the solid, soft warmth that enfolded her and the smell of herbs and pipesmoke and good tilled earth.

But perhaps, for one moment, she could pretend.

She slid the ring on – and vanished.

_**000**_

**You didn't REALLY think that she gave Gollum the One Ring, did you? C'mon.**

**She won't need it like Bilbo did, but the Ring wanted to leave Gollum. So leave Gollum it did.**

_Lyrics written and owned by katethegreat19/Erutan, song is: 'You're not alone' find her on youtube, she's a beautiful singer_


	12. The Elven King

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER ELEVEN – The Elven King **

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

"**Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand.** A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive: attempted burglary, or something of that ilk."

Thorin's eyes shuttered minutely as the blond weed-eater swept around him, if that elf had any idea how his skin crawled with disgust to have him anywhere near him, to have his _breath_ brush across his face, as his tall willowy body bent like a serpent around him. He had been separated from his people, despite their frantic protests, and dragged to the _Great_ Elven King, Thranduil for this... theatre performance of his. He doubted, as deeply as the tunnels of Moria were, that this being knew how much self-control it was taking his unwilling captive not to lash out at him, not to strike him in the throat and rid his ears of the displeasure of being forced to listen to his voice. If he did. He would not dare stand so close to a Dwarven Warrior so near the end of his fraying self-control.

"You have found a way in." The elf uncoiled and slithered backwards, leaning down, queer unnatural eyes like oil on water locked on him. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: the King's Jewel, the Arkenstone."

Just hearing that word from that white worm's lips was enough to turn his stomach. He had to look away or he feared he would do something the others would regret, helpless and unarmed as they were within the dungeon cells, at the mercy of this... _elf_ and his guards.

"It is precious to you beyond measure," the elf-king purred, drawing his attention once more. That snake was planning something, plotting. "I understand that," he breathed and Thorin swallowed back his expression of revulsion. He did not like that sound, it made his stomach turn. "There are gems in the mountain that I too desire." Of course there were. "White gems of pure starlight." He inclined his head, ever so slightly, his eyes sliding shut with an expression of such _fake_ sincerity it tasted like ash and Orc blood upon his tongue. "I offer you my help."

Did this serpent think him a fool?

He had to smirk in bitter mirth, of course he did, he always _had_ thought himself so superior, had he not?

"I am listening," the Dwarven King rumbled. Let the snake have his say, see his reasoning. This was a confrontation he had been waiting for since his second decade. For, perhaps, he could find it within himself to forgive the elf for not risking his people against the wrath of Smaug, but the following years... wondering the wild lands, his sister nearly being taken by Men into a whore-house as an object of novelty, the mothers and children lost in the years of displacement, to hunger, disease, murder, and not a single helping of aid came from the Great Elven King.

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."

He turned and slowly walked to the stairs, his smirk widening into a soft snort of insulted disbelief, "A favour for a favour," he clarified.

"You have my word. One King... to another."

That pestilential...

His blood burned like the forges of Mahal with his anger, "I would not trust Thranduil, the Great King, to honour his word SHOULD THE END OF ALL _DAYS_ BE UPON US!" he roared, spinning around to snarl in the white snake's face. "_YOU_ LACK ALL HONOUR! I have seen how you treat your _friends_. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help, but you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! And were it just the dragon I could find it in my heart to forgive! But _no_ aid was sent to the women, or the children left to find a way in the wilds! No thought or care for their deaths – deaths that could have been avoided in the safety of a Hall be it Elvish or Dwarven! **BETRAYER OF OATHS, YOU AND YOUR KIN DIE A DEATH OF FLAMES A THOUSAND TIMES FOR EACH CHILD LOST!**" he bellowed in Khuzdul. Were it just the dragon, he could forgive. But the memories of those Dwarrowdams, and the young ones, they played within his nightmares, in his fears, the names and faces of those he failed as he tried to keep their Hobbit alive, tried not to fail just this _once_.

An ugly sneer twisted the elf's face as he leaned back, looking down his nose with contempt, "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon," he bit out before turning and stalking up the stairs to his throne, "You are just like him." Coming from Thranduil, Thorin decided he would take that as a compliment.

The elf made an impatient gesture as he sat down, a pair of guards quickly grabbing the Dwarf under the arms and hauling him away, "Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can _wait_."

He might, Thorin growled, but they couldn't.

_**000**_

Watching the Dwarf King get dragged away did not fill him with the satisfaction he thought it would, or felt that it _should_ have. His angry (justified) words left a taste like ash and an unpleasant weight upon his heart.

He sneered, "Someone bring the female to me. Be sure to rough her up some in front of the Dwarves, one of their few good qualities is their protectiveness of females..." he trailed off in dark amusement, he would remind Thorin Oakenshield that his life was not the only one within the palm of his hand. He would break that Dwarf of his pride before he left these halls, that, he swore upon the Valar.

_**000**_

She quickly yanked the ring off and threw it against the far wall in shock.

That was _NOT_ her ring!

She had worn Bilbo's ring many a time but never had it ever done... that.

It was magical.

It was not her ring.

Had she... accidentally swapped her ring with Gollum's?

Slowly she shifted closer and picked it up once again. In the light it looked no different from Bilbo's ring. It felt cool to the touch, the same shade of gold, flawlessly smooth. Perhaps the only flaw to it was that it had none. Even the ring she received from Bilbo had scuff marks here and there from where she had been less careful than she should have been with it.

She sighed and stowed the ring in her breast pocket again, she hoped Gollum wasn't terribly angry about the swap, he had been so heartbroken before that her stomach churned unhappily at the thought of causing the poor creature more heartache. She would have to correct her error on the way home. Maybe, with Gandalf escorting her, she could even convince him to return to the Shire with her. Sunlight and good meals would do him a world of good. And with the Wizard at her side, she would feel much safer speaking with him – less chance of his hands finding their way to her throat once more.

How were they to get out of here?

If she had access to herbs it would only be too easy to make sleep-powder and deal with the guards. If she had any kind of metal or bone pick, dealing with the locks would be just as easy.

But even if she escaped, she was just one Hobbit. How would she manage to free the others? Especially when the guards...

Her hand drifted to her pocket.

...They could not stop what they cannot see...

She just needed a chance, one small opportunity to slip away and once she had... she would need to find their supplies and weapons, a way out. A laudable task when she would have all the Kingdom looking for her.

She stood as she heard the sound of keys jangling, "Did he offer you a deal?" Balin suddenly called.

"He did," Thorin growled back, Willow sighed in relief as she leant against her bars, "I told him he could go **ish kakhfe ai'd dur rugnu** – him and all his kin!" he snarled into the hall so the guards could hear his declaration too.

Balin sighed in defeat, "Well... that's it, then. A deal was our only hope."

"Have hope, Master Balin!" she called across to him, "We have sweat and bled too much for us to give up now. Fortune has smiled upon us since the start. I do not think we should be giving up just yet!" she declared strongly.

There was a moment of silence before a chuckle was heard, "Aye, you're right lass. I - " he suddenly cut off.

"Balin?" she called, worried only to scramble to her feet as her cell door was suddenly opened. A pair of armoured elves staring at her from the door.

"The King has summoned you," the closest one said crisply in Common.

She frowned, "Me? But -"

"No buts," the other snapped before grabbing her about the arm and squeezing _hard_. Hard enough that she couldn't stop herself from crying out more in surprise than pain as she was forcibly dragged from the cell. Almost immediately the Dwarves began to shout and bellow, rattling their cages and roaring threats and promises of retribution against the elves.

She grit her teeth and wrenched her arm free – the other back handed her harshly across the face, sending her crashing to the ground with a painfilled grunt.

A grunt that turned to a snarl as she rolled backwards and braced a foot against the wall and launched forward.

Out of all the prisoners, she had been the one they expected trouble from the _least_.

She rammed her head into the groin of the elf who hit her, sending him to the ground with a cry of pain – heedless to her suddenly snatching his sword and swinging it smoothly in an arc behind her, nearly removing the hand of the hand of the other elf had he not jumped backwards. If she were to fight fair, she would lose, she did not have the experience to face an elf in battle, they had thousands of years to perfect their combat skills, it was probably a good thing that Willow had no intention of fighting fair.

She grabbed the first elf, the one she had headbutted, by the hair and laid her blade against his throat.

His companion froze in horror.

"_Unlock the cells,_" she growled, "_Or I will slit his throat._"

There was a moment of silence as the guard stared at her, "_No you won't,_" he breathed, "_You do not have the heart of a killer, little one. That much is plain to see. You will not kill him._"

She bared her teeth, "_You lock me and my companions here without reason. You torment our leader about the death of his kin and people. You strike me for no reason. And then you say I will not kill you to gain our freedom. I did not think the elves of the Woodland Realm would be so naïve,_" she spat.

"LASSIE BEHIND YE!"

Curse the elf for being right, she decided as she took the blade away from his friend's neck in order to swipe at the red headed female who crept up behind her.

The second elf whom she threatened lunged at her from behind, both arms banding around her waist. She thrashed and kicked the first one in the face – repeatedly – as she tried to squirm free.

"_Are you having trouble Elros?_" the elf-maiden asked lightly in amusement.

"_She fights like the spawn of a Balrog!_" he growled.

"BALROG?! BALROG! I'LL GIVE YOU A BLOODY BALROG YOU LACK-WITTED SON OF A LAME GOAT!" she snarled furiously, swinging her legs up and managing to land a kick to his face. The elf swore, and quite violently at that, while his red headed friend laughed and the Dwarves cheered her on.

Just a moment! Just a moment she needed a moment to get free and then she could vanish using the ring!

She went limp, and lifted her arms.

Her dress, such as it was, slipped past her.

The elf yelped as she slid, neatly as you please, out of her clothing and onto the floor where she grabbed his ankle and wrenched it out from under him.

The Dwarves all started swearing and shouting, she couldn't hear a damn word they said as suddenly the red head was on her.

_**000**_

Thranduil stared.

"_When I told you to rough her up some, I did not mean to violate or humiliate her,_" he stated coolly, looking to his guards, both of which looked more than a little ruffled, one with his nose pinched shut and blood decorating his chin, the other with black eyes and a split lip, stood gingerly and at distance, and Tauriel, smirking, as she kept hold of the half-naked Halfling.

"_She fights like a..._" the guard with the bloody nose cut himself off and looked down to where the Halfling was glaring up at him, he huffed and rubbed his face, "_She is over fond of kicking and wiggling,_" he complained in an undertone.

He looked to Tauriel for something a little more useful, "_She took something of an exception to being stuck and decided to fight back. When caught, she felt that freedom was more important than dignity and slithered out of her dress in an attempt to escape,_" the female explained, fighting back a smirk of approval as she nodded to the folded green cloth over her forearm.

The Halfling glared at him with emerald eyes, one arm in Tauriel's grasp, the other hiding her breasts from view.

He shook his head, he had no desire to see the body of a _child_ within his chambers, "_Next time, do not bring her before me so unclothed. It is indecent,_" he sneered.

Willow was released and found her dress shoved back into her hands. Surreptitiously, while the King had turned away and the female was making sure her companions had their backs turned, she slipped the ring into her hand and pulled the dress on overhead. She glanced around quickly, there was a walkway beneath them, but a long drop into a river below that, she looked away feeling sick – she had not seen that earlier. Did that river pass under the whole settlement? It was cause for thought.

Apart from that, there was only the steps behind her off this platform.

On the brightside, the female had her sword. Shouldn't be too difficult to pilfer it off her when she made her escape.

"A Halfling travelling with a group of Dwarves into Elvish Territories," the King suddenly spoke, deeming her appropriately dressed enough to turn and face her. "What do you think is wrong with that sentence?" he asked rhetorically.

She answered anyway.

"That you used the word Halfling," she stated flatly with a glare, "I am not half of anything, thank you very much."

Thranduil closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He should have known that any being who travelled with Dwarves would be just as rude and belligerent as them. Somehow he needed to get the female to trust him enough to tell him of their quest and then get her to agree to stealing him the stones he desired. Or... he could simply scare her into doing so... but that left a foul taste in his mouth, so uncouth, however necessary.

He lunged towards her, gratified to see her take a startled step back as he loomed.

"Do not take such tone with me, _Halfling_. You are but a mote of dust before an elf," he sneered threateningly, but instead of the fear he had hoped, her eyes hardened into the emeralds he was so fond of.

"Forgive me my tone, _your majesty_," she with a delicate ring of disgust to her voice. "For what reason is this mote of dust brought before the great Elven King?" she demanded, complete with mocking bow.

A great clamour kicked up below, drawing the attention of everyone and Willow seized her chance.

She slipped on the ring and watched in great amusement as shock and then abject _fury_ filled the Elf King's face when he turned his eyes back to her and found nothing.

"_FIND HER! PUT EXTRA GUARDS UPON THE DWARVES!_" he screeched, no longer looking quite so fair, but rather considerably fouler.

She slipped behind the red headed female as she directed several of the guards to their new stations, watching with sharp eyes as she moved to the lower levels and the _wine cellar?_

Inside, she found the elf in charge of their keys and watched as he was commanded to not let them out of his sight as there was an escapee. The elf-maiden then whirled around and left, moving through the halls and, the kitchens!

"_Captain Tauriel, what can we do for you?_" greeted one of the males as he set down some potatoes he had been peeling, drying his hands on a cloth as he came over to greet her.

"_We have an escapee. Report any missing food of substantial volumes to the guard,_" the red head commanded.

The elf looked worried, "_An escapee? Of what kind?_"

She paused, "_A half- a Hobbit. A young female with dark hair. She would look not unlike an elfling if not for her breasts, and the hair upon her feet. She will fight to defend herself but she is no a killer, no matter what she may threaten. So do not fear Master Cook. She isn't a danger, but she possesses answers to questions the King has,_" she explained to the surprised looking male.

The door closed, the elf promising to do as asked, and as Tauriel turned away, Willow silently lifted her blade from its sheath.

She did not notice.

Seeing that the sword did not go invisible with her, she slid the ring off, becoming visible for a heartbeat, before slipping it back on, and vanishing wholly.

Time to make some sleeping powder.

She slipped silently back into the kitchens, dodging around gossiping elves as they did their work, apparently there was to be a celebration this eve, the Festival of Starlight. She wondered what kind of festival it was and whether or not Arwen in Rivendell was doing the same. She found the herb-garden and quickly got to work, pilfering a splash of water here and there.

All the while she listened to the elves chatter and speculate about her escape.

"_Of course it matters not where she goes,_" one of the males declared smugly, "_They will catch her soon enough. She cannot leave. The gates are enchanted remember? Only Elf-kind and those guided by us can pass in or out._"

One of the females scoffed smacking him up the head with a bundle of dried rosemary, "_And what of the wine cellar? I seem to recall a certain pair of troublesome elflings finding themselves swept halfway to the lake after playing with the barrel swing!_" she declared, making the elf in question blush hotly.

"_Dwarves are as rocks, to go that way is to invite death. They cannot swim,_" he sneered but Willow didn't think so. She recalled Fili and Kili swimming in Beorn's pond for a brief time and she recalled some of Balin's tales of there being great lakes and rivers under the Dwarven fortresses where they kept pearl farms filled with oysters they had to dive down and gather.

The Dwarves could swim, there was no doubt in her mind of that.

But... She could not. She would have to find another way or... or go with them and hope.

_**000**_

The keeper of the keys was her first victim, him and his drinking partner hiding down in the wine cellars.

A pinch of powder into their cups and they were out, though given the bottles of wine beside them, the powder may not have been needed she thought as she took the keys and readjusted her ring to vanish them from sight. The powder was a _lot_ stronger than any other kind she had made before as it was created with elf-grown herbs, she had even laid Elvish enchantments of sleep and restfulness over the powder to ensure its stronger properties. She didn't know how much it would take to put an elf down so she made it as strong as she could and as much of it as she could.

The halls were in semi-chaos, elves and guards still looking for her. They had, however, foolishly only guarded the entrance _into_ the Dungeons. Not the individual Dungeon cells. Guess she didn't need that sleep-powder. She padded over silently, listening to the Dwarves gossip with a grin.

"She must be giving them a real run around," Gloin declared with a chuckle.

Fili snorted, "I'm surprised they haven't had to call the guards away in order to catch her. She fights like a wild-cat," he laughed.

"Could have done without the part at the end though," Dwalin grunted unhappily.

"Well so could I to be honest," she announced, "standing in front of Thranduil half-naked was not on my list of things to do. And neither is staying here," she whispered, holding up the keys with an impish smile that hid her unease. "Let's get out of here."

_**000**_

**I'm not a Thranduil fan if you couldn't tell. XDDD;;**


	13. Face your Fears

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER TWELVE – Face your Fears**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**She winced, smiling as she unlocked the nearest cell and received an almost crushing hug from Bifur as he stepped out, crooning something in Khuzdul as he tilted her face to look at the no doubt blossoming bruise on her cheek, only recently coming into colour.** She hugged him back before slipping free to unlock the other cells, he wasn't the only one to give her that treatment, it seemed as if all the Dwarves were determined to break her ribs with hugs. By the time she was unlocking the last cell, Balin, she was grinning from ear to ear as he too engulfed her in a relieved hug.

"Well done, lassie," he whispered in her ear.

She grinned and patted his arm before gesturing at the group to follow her, explaining her plan in a hushed whisper as she went, "There are only two ways out of the city, the front gates are impossible. They're enchanted so that only elves can slip through or those escorted by them. But I overheard the cooks talking about a barrel swing in the wine-cellar, it drops directly into the river and leads all the way to the lake just south of Erebor," she explained in a whisper as she lead them down into the cellar, grinning as she saw the elves still passed out. "I heard that there was a gate installed a few centuries ago after an incident with some elflings so I don't know what awaits us outside," she explained in a normal tone as she lead the group further in.

Kili hissed when he saw the sleeping elves only to frown, "Are they – keh, elves, can't even handle their drink," he muttered in disgust.

She smirked, "Oh I'm sure they would handle it better if I didn't drug the wine," she told them sweetly, causing the party to turn and stare at her as she basked for a moment in her own cunning, holding up a large bottle with a cork and wax covered cap – shimmering grey powder inside. She gave it a little shake for emphasis.

However, Fili was frowning, "Are you going to be alright with this?" he asked seriously.

Thorin frowned, glancing between his nephew and their Hobbit, "Fili?"

Willow took a breath, "I'll manage," she assured him with a smile that came across as more of a grimace, "I looked for other avenues. There are none. It's this, or stay here," she declared, having to take a deep breath as she felt her throat close in fear but swallowed it. If she could swallow her fear of dragons, dementors, Voldemort, and Acromantula (amongst other things), then she could handle a little bit of water. She had gone swimming with Mermaids before. She could _handle_ this. She shuddered, "Everyone get in the barrels," she ordered her voice high with discomfort, gesturing to them as the sound of horns went off upstairs. Their empty cells had been discovered. "Quickly!" she hissed.

The Dwarves scrambled to do as they were told, Thorin pausing to grab her arm frowning, "What did Fili mean?" he asked quickly in an undertone. "You are afraid, why?"

She floundered, "I cannot swim and deep water scares me, now _please_ get in the barrel!" she begged rapidly as elvish was shouted through the halls and the sound of footsteps could be heard.

Thorin scowled but he did as she asked and climbed into one of the empties.

"Now what?" Bofur asked, head poking out of his barrel.

Willow swallowed past her tight throat as she finished tying the bottle to her belt, "Take a deep breath, and hold on," she told them shortly before she grabbed the lever and hauled on it with all her strength, unlocking the swing.

The Dwarves yelped in shock and discomfort as their barrels began to roll, the swing dipping down and opening to the river below.

Willow closed her eyes and forced her tingling feet after them, if she didn't look, she could not baulk and freeze. She kept pace with the barrels as they dropped off the lip of the swing – a lip that suddenly lifted under her as the last barrel, Bombur, left it. Her eyes sprang open in fright as she felt herself being flung up and forward. Her gaze filled with the water way beneath her.

Her breath froze in her lungs as she was flicked over the heads of the cursing dwarves and into the water ahead of them. Her breath left her in a whoosh as she struck the water. The shock of cold water freeing her panicked limbs from their paralysis and setting her to thrashing as she struggled to reach the surface.

She flailed, clawing at the water and kicking her legs.

She broke the surface gulping down air and water, coughing as her frantic kicking wasn't enough to keep her on the surface.

Two pairs of hands caught her arms and she felt herself pulled to the surface proper, her eyes stinging with water as she felt one set of hands release her and an arm go around her waist, hauling her into a barrel.

"I've got you!" Kili shouted into her ear as she gasped, trembling against him as she clung to both his arm and the side of the barrel, her heart feeling as if it were beating out of her chest.

"Willow?" she could hear Thorin shouting, quickly followed by Dwalin and Bofur.

"I don't see her!" Fili yelled in distress, casting around the river for any sign of their Hobbit.

"I have her!" Kili shouted, tightening his grip on her waist, "I have her here!" he called, drawing their attention as the current began to carry them further down the river. "You're alright, you're alright, I won't let you go, I won't let you drown," the Dwarf promised.

"I'm fine!" she gasped, swallowing tightly gripping the barrel until her fingers ached, "Go."

She clung to Kili's side, wincing a little as he trod on her toes, the Dwarves paddling on ahead down the river. She could hear the elves shouting upstairs and groaned.

"They know we're here!" she called, "Paddle faster!" she leaned around the side of the younger Dwarf and joined him in paddling themselves forward – though she was perhaps less effective as she would flinch whenever her face was splashed and leaned as far away from the water as possible. Kili thankfully didn't laugh at her fearfulness.

Sunlight flooded the tunnel and suddenly Thorin's voice was bellowing at them to hold on and she felt her stomach drop down to her toes as a clear horizon filled her eyes.

She wanted to scream as they went over the falls, but her breath had locked in her lungs again, all she managed was a terrified wheeze before Kili's arm was around her again and they plunged into the rapids.

They surfaced and she spluttered, spitting his hair out of her face as their barrel was spun and knocked around in the fast running water.

"Kili! You and Willow alright?" Fili shouted as he spun past them, twisting in his barrel to keep his eyes on them.

"We're good! We are, aren't we?" the taller of the pair asked, looking down at her. She coughed and swore violently under her breath. "We're good!" he shouted to his brother with a wild grin. She was going to kill him. With a rock.

A horn split the air as they turned a corner in the rapids, the gate up ahead that she heard the cooks mention, fully manned with a guard outpost. Her heart sank as the guards snapped to attention, one of them pulling down a heavy lever, causing Thorin to yell in dismay as the heavy iron sluice gates swung shut. Blocking the river just as his barrel slammed into it.

A breath before an orc arrow sent one of the guards tumbling into the river.

She scrambled to grab him before he went under, the barrel she shared with Kili tipping dangerously as her fingers slipped on armour and cloth, unable to get purchase.

His eyes were grey, she realised as his shocked, terrified face slipped under the water.

"Willow! No!" Kili shouted, grabbing her by the middle and hauling her backwards before she dove under to the water to try and save him. There would be no saving him when she couldn't swim, when he was weighted down by such armour, when that arrow had gone through his lung. He was already dead.

Orcs swarmed the outpost, the guards did not last long, overwhelmed by sheer numbers and archers on the high-bank. Their bodies fell into the river and orcs followed after them, swarming the unarmed group of barrel riders.

Mostly unarmed.

Willow beheaded three of them before Dwalin managed to wrestle a cleaver from the fingers of a corpse, the other dwarves following suit even as the female snatched a blade from a kill and handed it to Kili.

"I'll get the lever! Keep them busy!" she shouted over the chaos before climbing out of the barrel.

"What?! Willow no!" Kili howled in horror as the female quickly found her way to land, snatching up a fallen elf-blade.

It was a lot like the Ranger training free-for-alls, she decided, almost inanely as she was forced to twist and duck under and around blades and limbs as she raced up the stone steps.

She grabbed one of the smaller Orcs, plunging her dagger into his kidneys and twisting as she used his body as a shield, running over the edge of the bridge over the water.

She had to stop and draw her blade out to gut another orc before he took her arm off – it was a probably a good thing she did as an arrow narrowly missed her thigh, shredding easily through the fabric of her dress as she staggered back to avoid its falling corpse.

She ignored the elvish arrows that suddenly flew past her as she flung her heavy burden off and threw her full weight up against the lever – lifting it as the Orcs around her fell, killed by the red headed female as she sprinted over the broken ground to defend them. Their eyes met. Summer grass meeting evergreen. Willow nodded, flashing her a smile of gratitude before turning, her eyes clenching shut as she threw herself off the stone work.

Into the waterfall.

The water battered her harshly, her eyes shut and her mouth pressed tightly as she felt herself being pulled and shoved, tumbling head over heals, her knuckles white and clenched around the hilts of her two elvish swords.

Her head broke the surface and she took a gasp of air – only to find herself dragged under again.

Her lungs burned and she felt something hard strike her side.

Arms were suddenly latching onto her.

She gasped as she broke the surface again, felt wood scraping her knuckles and allowed herself to be hauled into whose ever barrel it was that caught her.

She handed him the larger elvish sword, whoever he was and tried to get her breath back – roughly wiping her face and her streaming eyes as the world roared and spun around her as they descended into yet more rapids.

She felt a hand push her down and the sound of an Orc gurgle before water splashed over her head.

They were _still_ under attack?

She straightened up and cleared her face – just in time to slash an arrow out of the air before it struck them.

She twisted in the barrel, moving back to back as they fought.

An Orc lunged at her from above – she split him groin to throat before yanking his foot out from under him. He fell into the water and she ducked as a sword was thrown over her head into Dwalin's hands. He then threw it back to Nori who passed it to Fili.

It was chaos.

Absolute chaos.

She caught sight of Dwalin catching an axe -

"Cut the Log!" and suddenly felt herself being pushed forward as whoever was behind leaned back – woodchips rained down on her for a second as they swept under a low-hanging tree crawling with orcs.

Bofur, directly behind them, tore a fist sized chunk of wood out with his stolen blade – Dwalin breaking the tree with his axe, sending the whole tree into the river with their flailing enemy. Who, as she just realised, could not swim.

"Bombur!" Dwalin's voice.

Willow grunted as her dagger found another eyesocket, she twisted and wrenched it free with a savage snarl and stole the sword it was using, handing it backwards to her barrel partner.

She grinned fiercely in relief at the sight of Bombur as he drifted past her, looking a little startled but relieved as he paddled after them – she didn't bother to try and wonder how he got ahead.

She scowled when she spotted the nasty blond elf from before land on Oin and Dwalin's head, using them as convenient steps as he aimed his arrows. She snarled as she snatched another weapon from a kill and flung it as hard as she could at the nearest Orc – neatly splitting its head in two.

The elf was suddenly running on all the heads of her friends, even landing on the shoulder of the dwarf in her barrel before leaping off and onto the cliff-side to her left.

She felt the Dwarf behind her turn and throw his weapon – protecting the elf's back as an orc attempted to sneak up on him.

Vivid blue eyes stared after them, his expression too far away to see clearly, but he looked... confused, she decided as the group continued on down the river. Clearly he hadn't expected a Dwarf to even attempt defending an elf – even from an _orc_.

He didn't follow.

_**000**_

The moment they hit ground, to her embarrassment, she threw up.

Her legs, weak and rubbery, carried her up the rocks before they crumpled, sending her to her hands and knees where what little food she had eaten that morning (stolen from the elvish kitchens) splattered on the rocks beneath her as she coughed and shuddered. She felt Thorin lay a hand on her back, it had been his barrel she found herself dragged into after jumping off the gatehouse. She shrugged him off and treated him to a watery glare.

"I'm never going sailing with you ever again," she told him damply.

He snorted, "I see you're fine," he observed.

"Give me a few minutes to adjust to being back on land before I start crying," she warned him with a fearful hiccup as she slowly pushed herself back to sit on her behind, arms wrapped around her chest shaking, "I don't know how much more of this I can – no more water, please," she pleaded.

"I can't promise that," he told her calmly, hand resting on her head as he let her tremble. He turned to the rest of the group, "Is anyone injured?" he called, looking around.

"Bombur's half-drowned, but other than that, cuts and splinters," Dwalin reported, "Nothing that'll hold us up for long," he promised looking over to his rotund friend. If someone had told him a year ago that he would befriend the youngest of the Ur clan, the fat kitchen worker who cried over cinnamon pastries, he would have laughed in their face, now he counted himself honoured to have known the cook and would trust him at his back over a great deal of Dwarves within the guard.

Thorin nodded, "Good. We can't afford to wait around. That Orc pack wasn't far behind," he complained, giving Willow's head a small pat before getting to his feet and moving off to discuss their next step with Balin and Gloin as Ori dumped the water out of his boots and Nori wrestled the hair from his face. There was still a lake between them and the Mountain, and they would be run down by orcs long before they were able to get around it. What was more, Willow was the only one of their party with a weapon and as skilled as she was (Thorin would never doubt that after witnessing the number of heads she parted from shoulders and bellies that were opened by her blade), she could not defend them from a party of such size.

She heard him before she saw him, the faint sound of leather crunching on rock.

She shuddered, looking up through her long wet hair, green eyes widening as she saw the Man, dressed in worn brown leathers and furs, armed with bow and arrow. She scrambled backwards onto her feet as she realised just who he was looking at -

"Ori!"

The group reacted immediately.

Dwalin jumped in front of their scholar, a thick branch in hand while Kili scooped up a river rock to throw.

The Man put an arrow in the branch and shot the stone out of Kili's hand while Willow put herself between him and the red headed lad, her blade drawn in one hand warily. His arrow was pointed at her next but he seemed to hesitate upon seeing the blade – and her pointed ears.

"Do it again, and you're dead," the Man promised, tightening his grip on the bow.

_**000**_

"Such is the nature of evil," Thranduil crooned, stalking slowly around the filth his son held captive. "Out there in the vast ignorance of the world it festers and spreads, a shadow that grows in the dark. A sleepless malice as black as the oncoming wall of night. So it ever was, so it will always be. In time, all foul things come forth."

His son pressed the blade tightly against the orc's throat, "You were tracking a company of thirteen Dwarves and a Halfling female. Why?"

The orc snarled, "They can't outrun us forever," he gurgled.

"Answer the question, filth," Tauriel spat, her hands clenching and unclenching upon the hilt of her blade.

"**Sha hakhtiz khunai-go, Golgi!**"

Legolas sneered at the black tongue, jerking him forward a little in warning as he witnessed the female he had come to admire draw her blade in agitation, "I would not antagonise her," he suggested to the orc. Tauriel was unusually tense, under normal circumstances, he would have assumed it was one of the Dwarves that had her so twisted up, but he knew, from watching, it was the other female of the party. The little Halfling he witnessed trying to save the first of the guards to fall. He supposed he could understand her attachment to the creature, she was not unlike an Elfling in appearance, if not for those hideous feet. But just witnessing her fight was more than enough to assure him that she would not make for a very good pet. Vicious did not come close.

"Answer the question," King Thranduil demanded coldly, before his voice gentled, "You have nothing to fear. Tell us what you know and I will set you free."

Legolas frowned a little at that but brushed it off, "You had orders to kill them – why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?"

The orc rasped, "That Dwarf runt will never be King."

"King?" the Prince demanded in sharp disbelief, "There is no King under the Mountain, nor will there ever be. _None_ would dare enter Erebor whilst the dragon lives."

"You know nothing! Your world will buuuurn," the orc breathed in pleasured anticipation, his white on black eyes staring into the distant future with rapture.

"What are you talking about? _Speak_!"

"Our time has come again. My master serves the One. Do you understand now, Elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you-"

Legolas's hand jerked as he flinched back in order to avoid getting orc blood on his face. He grimaced delicately in disgust as he roughly dropped the severed head so that it could join the body now sprawled across his father's throne room floor.

"Why did you do that?" he asked in exasperation, sometimes dealing with his father was like dealing with a melodramatic toddler. "You promised to set him free."

"And I did. I freed his _wretched_ head from his miserable shoulders," the blond elf intoned coldly as he very deliberately stomped onto the still twitching leg of their former captive, grinding it into the floor until it stopped.

"There was more the orc could tell us," Legolas pointed out tiredly.

"There was nothing more he could tell _me_." And of course, that was all his father cared about. The King turned away, flicking blood from his blade and sheathing it with a whisper of metal.

"What did he mean by the '_flames of war_'?" the Prince asked, that was what concerned him the most out of that conversation. If there was war on the horizon, it would affect all the Free Peoples in one way or another. He doubted his father could merely close the gates and expect to weather this one as he had all the others.

"It means they intend to unleash a weapon so great it will destroy all before it," his father explained grimly. Legolas did not like the sound of those words. A weapon they didn't have last time, and _flames_ of war. It sounded to him as if they were trying to recruit Smaug into battle. Perhaps he should have thought twice about allowing the Dwarves to continue their journey – at least without aid. If their fools' quest brought them into Erebor through unknown passages, there was a chance, slim as it was, to assassinate the beast before he could join with the Enemy. If father performed as predicted though... "I want the watch doubled at all our borders. All roads, all rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this Kingdom, and no one leaves it."

"_My King!_" a new voice interrupted, causing the group to turn as one of the lower guards dashed over, his hands clutching a bundle of Athelas.

Tauriel frowned, "_What is it, Lenwe?_" she demanded, stepping forward.

The young elf stuttered for a moment, holding the Athelas out, "_We found these!_"

Thranduil sneered, "_Medicinal herbs are hardly of importance at this time, Guard!_" he snapped sharply.

The lad shook his head frantically in refusal, "_My King! We found them in the __Forest__!_"

Everyone in the Hall went still, staring at the young Guard and his handful of flowers.

"_We found them where the Dwarves were captured!_"

"But... Dwarves do not have such magics..." Legolas murmured, looking to his father.

_**000**_

**I want to reiterate. **

**Willowyn does not have Harry Potter magic.**

**I never said anything about other kinds of magic though, did I? (TROLLFACE)**

**Also, some people had concerns about Thranduil. I want to make this clear, **I do not intend to bash characters in my fics**. I don't like doing it. Every character has their own motivations for doing things, I may not display those motivations immediately, or even at all. But they have them. For instance, breaking Thorin of his pride – Thror's pride got Erebor set on fire by a Dragon and had Thrain trying to retake Moria and getting his ass kicked and who knew how many Dwarves killed, including his son, Frerin. Thorin IS very proud, and he DOES need a bitch-slap on that front. However, his pride has pretty much been the ONLY thing he has had since he was twenty six and stood between a dragon and his home. **

**As for roughing up Willow. Try to remember that I'm using movie Thranduil, who is a massive douche, not book Thranduil who is of a closer kidney to Elrond. He said to rough her up, not to beat her. Try to remember that elves don't really have a gender divide – females are just as much warriors as males, so if an elf would hit a male, they would hit a female just as readily unless they were pregnant. Also, Thorin plans to go into a dragon's den. A **_**dragon**_**. Where does Thranduil and his people live? Yes, a very **_**flammable**_** forest. A little heavy handedness in order to intimidate some answers is not out of the question. Kings have to make ugly decisions. Thranduil is just emotionally distanced enough from the 'lesser' species that he doesn't feel guilty over them – she's just a Halfling, what does he care for beings that root around in the dirt?**


	14. Lake Town

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN – Lake Town**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**Bard had never seen Dwarves properly before. **But this was a strange group, even compared to the pub gossip he had heard over the years. A group of thirteen males, and a female he wasn't entirely certain was actually a Dwarf, but treated well by them never the less. Of the group, it seemed as if the surly one with the long dark hair and short beard was in charge while the oldest, with the long white beard was perhaps the best negotiator of the lot. There were three young ones, a pair of brothers and an educated youth, probably a scribe. He could peg one warrior clear as day, the one who hard stepped forward with a branch when they first met, his battle tattoos stark and obvious upon his forearms and head.

But the lass, now she was interesting.

Wearing a shirt far to big to be Mannish or Elvish fashioned into a dress, a large red stone set in silver around her throat, a bottle of silvery grey shimmering powder at her hip, and armed with an elvish blade of beautiful craftsmanship. The Dwarves all treated her with great care, and she apparently had no love of water or sailing he noted as she huddled between the tattooed warrior and a fussy white haired Dwarf of impressive bulk, the two of them using their body heat to keep her warm as she hid her face in her knees.

At least he didn't have to smuggle them into the town. When he had seen the state of the barrels he had feared that the group had gotten into trouble with the Woodland Realm, if it was known he had smuggled them into the town it would be his children who suffered for it. But hearing of the Orc pack that attacked them as they were leaving, that they had been forced to use the barrels just to get ahead of them until the current slowed, had set those concerns to ease. There was only one way in or out of the Woodland Realm and that was by the gates by order of the King. Had these folk truly fled from the elves, the lass would not wear such a pendent, nor be armed with such a blade.

"That blade you carry," he finally spoke, drawing the group's attention, "It is elvish. Where did you come by it?" he asked.

The lass mumbled something into her knees and leaned against the warrior more firmly. He huffed and answered for her. "Not far from her homeland. We ran into Trolls on the Great East Road. They had it in their cave. Gandalf the Grey gave it to her." He paused as she mumbled some more and scowled, looking down at her, "Why would you do something like - " he cut off as she replied, again too muffled to be heard and huffed. "Foolish idea. What if she hadn't given it back?" he huffed before looking back to Bard, "The lass tried to return it to Lady Arwen of Rivendell, as the sword was made by her Kin during the Second Age. But the Lady said it was hers to keep and wouldn't take it."

Bard hummed eyeing him, "Why does she not speak for herself?" he asked coolly.

"Because she doesnae like deep water. And after what happened today, I'm just glad she hasn't started to cry yet," the Warrior explained harshly.

The girl mumbled something again and the Warrior huffed falling quiet and grumpily folding his arms, the white haired male beside him throwing an arm around the lass's shoulders and drawing her into a tight hug. Well, Bard pondered, watching the group. For all that Grumpy Face seemed to be in charge, the female apparently had considerable power within the group.

They continued to sail in silence as the small barge moved through frozen water, and ruins.

A hush fell over the Dwarves as they all turned as one and stared up at the Dragon's Mountain with varying expressions. Longing, heartbreak, grim resignation, determination, and open awe. Bard glanced over, wondering if they could see anything of particular note but no, the mountain looked the same as it always did. But he supposed a Dwarf would see if differently. It had, afterall, been their home once upon a time ago.

"We're approaching the Toll Gate," he called, spotting the familiar structure in the distance as the shrouds of mist peeled back before his eyes.

"Halt! Goods inspection! Papers please!" cried a familiar voice, Bard grinned in mixed relief and familiarity. "Oh, it's you, Bard. And..." the man eyed the group in surprise for a moment, like he himself, Percy had never seen a Dwarf either. "And guests. Now, Bard, I like you, but you know I have to call the Guard about this," he warned him, sounding sorry.

Bard smirked, "Morning to you too Percy. And no problem. I'm just taking them over the lake. What happens to them now isn't my business," he declared easily.

Percy wrinkled his nose, "Where'd you pick them up, anyway? Dwarves don't come by these parts. Not anymore," he stated.

Bard shrugged a shoulder, "Necessity. I found them on the Forest River. Run afoul of an Orc Pack."

Percy squinted at the group, eyeing the young ones, particularly the one whose beard had yet to grow through, Kili Bard thought his name was. And the young Lady who was shivering and hidden amongst the group. Percy was a good man, Bard knew he would let the group in once their Toll was paid, he was not the sort who would condone leaving any Free Being to the mercy of a roving Orc Pack, especially when there were women and children in said group.

He sighed through his nose, "Right then. You lot wait here on the dock, I'll dig out some papers for ye. Bard, anything to declare while I've got you here?" he asked.

"Nothing but that I am cold and tired and ready for home," the Man said with surprising good humour as he presented a paper to the gate keeper.

Percy grinned as he took it, "Oh, you and me both," he agreed, rolling his shoulders in his heavy coat as he took the paper into the little room and stamped it. He returned the paper to the bargeman, "Here we are. All in order. If you gentlefolk, and lady, would step off the barge, let's get you sorted as well." With reluctance the Dwarves climbed off the barge, Bard watching as they carefully aided the female off, she was still shivering and stuck close to the males, the Warrior keeping a hand on her arm even as her own hands reached out to latch onto Grumpy Face's tunic. Family perhaps? Though none of them looked alike save for Grumpy Face and the youngest of the group (his father?).

"Morning Percy," Bard called as the last of them stepped off.

"See you tonight, Bard. Down the pub?" the Man asked cheerfully as the Dwarves huddled outside the gate, shivering.

"Not tonight no. I want to spend time with the children," he refused.

Percy nodded his head before turning to call to the guards on the otherside, "Raise the gate!" he called before turning to them, "Now. Let's get inside, see if we can't sort out your papers, sirs, and lady," he declared amiably as he ushered them into his small gate-house.

It was the work of an hour to get their papers sorted, thankfully he subscribed to '_Ladies first_', and Willowyn was able to patch together a believable story that mixed both truth and lies together for the gate master to swallow with ease. They were on their way to the Iron Hills, she explained that she was to be married there, and that the Dwarves accompanying her were a protective escort to ensure she arrived safely. However, they were dogged by Orcs the whole while, lost their equipment and weapons in the Misty Mountains in Goblin Town – where she was injured, she explained showing the head wound and hip which were still fresh enough looking that he hissed in sympathetic pain. They took refuge with a friend of her ancestor's just outside of Mirkwood who gave them food and supplies enough to see them through the forest. They had just passed through when they were attacked by Orcs once again, they had been in the process of overrunning the river gate of the Woodland Realm when they came upon them. The Orcs then abandoned their trouble-making to give chase and the group took to the barrels in the river in the hopes they could outrun them on the rapids. They had lost the current and come ashore not five minutes before Bard found them and agreed to take them to the Toll Gate – had they tried to go around to the entrance, they would have been run down in short order, especially with their weapons and belongings lost in the mad water fight and escape.

Her story had been swallowed easily, and the others gave pretty much the exact same version but with some added little bits here and there. When asked why so many were chosen to escort her, Kili had been the cheeky one to pipe up that she was to marry into one of the Great Seven Clans, the Line of Durin. He even spun that the necklace she wore was proof of her engagement and the reason they were so hunted by Orcs on their journey. Willow could see Balin fighting the urge to put his face into his hands, Dwalin mean while looked like he was torn between laughing and hitting the boy himself. Thorin had already given up pretence and started to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. Thankfully the gate master knew nothing of Dwarvish culture and bought the neat little pile of lies and truth whole. With their names down on paper, official stamps declaring their admittance, and the exchange of twelve copper pieces each (or in this case, five silver for everyone), they were allowed into Lake Town and even given directions to a fairly good Inn.

The River Eel was a fairly standard Inn not unlike the Prancing Pony back in Bree, the downstairs was a currently quiet pub serving early morning breakfast to those that wanted it, well lit and thankfully warm. The group couldn't help but sigh in relief as they stepped inside and were greeted by a wall of heat that washed over them. The barman chuckled at their reactions, "What can I get you Gentlefolk?" he asked amiably as he leaned over the counter, his eyes bright with curiosity.

"Two rooms please, next to each other if you can manage it, a large one for ourselves, and a small private one for the lass," Balin requested, "Food too if the kitchen is awake at this hour," he added glancing around.

The barman rubbed his chin, "I don't rightly think I have a room big enough for the lot of you. But I have two fairly medium sized rooms and a little one in the middle if that works out to your liking, Master Dwarf?" he offered thoughtfully.

Balin brightened up considerably at the idea, this way their female would be protected between the two rooms. "Aye, quite agreeable."

He nodded and drew back in order to rummage under the bar for a moment, he surfaced with a large book and an ink-well a moment later. "Right then, can I have your toll papers?" he asked and Balin handed over the needed strips to him, each were given a cursory inspection, the numbers atop the strips noted down within his book, "Now, who shall I put down for the rooms?"

"Masters Balin and Gloin for the mediums, and Lady Proudfoot for the small," Balin declared, not willing to risk Thorin's name being brought up and recognised.

The Inn-Keeper carefully noted them down, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he wrote before nodding and setting his quill aside, "Right. For three days bed and board, breakfast and dinner, includin' a tub of hot water for bathin', that'll be ten silver for the two medium rooms and three for the single." The Man puffed his chest out proudly, "Best deal you'll get in Lake Town," he boasted, "Best fish and potato soup too."

Balin turned to the group and it was with great reluctance they ponied up the required coins (It took a particularly damp and well timed sneeze on Willowyn's part to get Gloin to guiltily part with the last of the coins they needed for the rooms).

Once up in their rooms, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Ori, Dori, Balin and Oin in one, with Dwalin, Nori, Gloin, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur in the other (evenly splitting the warriors between the two rooms and putting Dori with Ori to lessen the fretting from the oldest Ri-brother), they all found it exceptionally hard not to just curl up and fall asleep then and there. They had spent almost the entire night within the Elf King's halls before escaping and right now the adrenalin crash was catching up. Willow had done as she promised she would once this was over and crawled into her bed, burrowing into her blankets and pillow and sobbing herself to sleep as the events of the day caught up with her. The Orc attack didn't bother her much, but the water... grey eyes haunted her sleep.

While she slept, the others discussed ways of getting weapons and armour and more equipment.

Their supply of silver was limited after losing twenty nine pieces on getting into the town coupled with room and board, that left them with twenty one pieces left – not including the twelve Gloin thought they didn't know about. Clothing, packs and survival equipment for the fourteen of them would set them back a good fifteen silver pieces, assuming that the Man-folk didn't try to fleece them as outsiders, which they were guaranteed to try. Armour and weapons would be impossible to buy. It would be one or the other after that.

"We could make weapons?" Kili suggested, "I'm sure they have a smithy here, right?"

Dwalin scoffed, "Yer Uncle is the only Blacksmith amongst us, lad," he stated flatly, "and he's a perfectionist to boot. We'll be waiting a week for just a single blade," he griped playfully, and had to then duck as Thorin threw a candle at his head.

Nori hummed picking under his nails with a steak knife he picked up downstairs, "We could steal weapons," he suggested with a tone of forced lightness. Everyone looked at him, he treated them to a long flat stare, "We won't be buying any here. This town wouldn't have any to begin with. It's under thumb," he explained flatly, he had seen it many times in his life as he did a great deal of under the table deals, towns and villages kept unarmed so that their Lord could stay in power if they were particularly paranoid about uprisings and riots. "Give me a week or two and I could find a way to get good quality ones from the Iron Hills. But we've only got five days before Durin's Day. If we want weapons, we'll either have to make-do and get creative, or steal them from the Guards. They're the only ones with any kind of steel here."

The group fell silent, debating it.

"We haven't much choice by this point," Thorin rumbled unhappily, "We shall just have to settle our debts with Lake Town once we are home." He pulled a face at Dwalin, "I'll forge them new blades myself if I have to."

It was decided then, they would steal the weapons they needed the night they left, and get out of the town before the alarm was raised.

_**000**_

Bofur eyed the trousers as he held them up, "What do you think Dori?" he asked their weaver, "Are these Willow's size?" he asked curiously.

The older Dwarf eyed them sceptically, "I'll have to take them in at the hip since she lost weight in the forest but yes, they'll do. Add them to the basket," he said, pointing to where Bifur and Dwalin had been relegated to pack-mules for all their goods. Already they were carrying a fair few bags and packs of goods, mostly food and camping equipment. Fili, Kili and Nori had already been sent back with a few armloads of goods to their rooms where Balin and Ori were sorting through them into individual packs for everyone (None of them had felt comfortable leaving the Inn when Willow was asleep alone in her room without protection – hence why some of them had stayed, keeping their door open so as to keep an eye on the corridor).

Bombur was choosing food while Bofur was grabbing a few extra bits and bobs he thought they may need. He decided to get a few extra things for Willow that he guessed she would need. It would surprise a lot of the company to know that Bombur had once been married. A lovely lass she had been, but without the protection of a Hall it hadn't been long before she met her end on the road. Pregnant, unable to fight, it had been Goblins that took her in the fight. Bombur had forever blamed himself for not being there as he had broken his leg and not been fit to travel. He sobbed with remembrance of her whenever he passed by certain kinds of cakes, because it had been her cakes that they had met and bonded over. Sharing recipes and working in the kitchens of highborn Men together. But aside from that, Bofur had always been perceptive and more aware than his little brother. So he knew, that after a little while of not taking certain herbs, a lady's body would have certain... troubles. Perfectly natural ones that weren't really troubles per-say, but made for some exceptionally awkward and embarrassing moments for the lady in question, especially when she was in the company of male folk. So with that in mind, Bofur had a quiet word with one of the lasses and asked where he might get the required hygiene necessities. Willow may not need them right now, but he was willing to bet that she would eventually in a short amount of time. It had been almost two months since she lost her possessions to the Misty Mountains and stress could only delay such things for so long.

By the time the group returned to the Inn, it was well towards dinner time and the group were not only famished, but also eager for that hot water to get themselves cleaned up.

While they split the newest selection of things, Bofur slipped the extras he bought for their lady into her pack before going to get himself a bite to eat downstairs with Nori, Ori, Bifur, and Dwalin. Pints of watered down ale chugged, plates of mashed potato and fish and mushroom pie delivered, the group ate with gusto and relaxed in front of the fire in order to enjoy the warmth of the pub and the easy chatter around them as fishermen, dock hands, guards and other assorted folk came in to have a drink and a smoke and a wind-down after a hard day's work.

It wasn't long later that the others came down as well along with a certain Mistress Proudfoot, who looked as though she had seen some considerably better days, but was now a lot more composed than she had been before. Bofur grinned around his pipe as he watched his friends and kin fall on their meals like starved animals while the lady pulled a face and took her time with her meal, using both knife and fork. Well, he decided, glancing to the rest of the room from under his hat, it certainly added to their image if the future wife of Durin's line was more refined than the rest of them. (He made a mental note to never let Kili live that little fib down, as was his solemn duty as self-declared crazy uncle to the Young ones. He now had to decide which one of Kili's family members he was trying to set up with their Burglar. His uncle or his brother, or even himself. That would be a fun thing to tease him with, Bofur decided, hiding his grin behind his pipe.)

After relaxing a time, the group eventually returned upstairs where their packs were distributed between them and hot water was brought to their rooms to get cleaned up.

Willow could only shake her head as she heard the sounds of what was unmistakably a water fight between Fili and Kili in the next room while Bofur lead Bombur on a jaunty sing-along in the other room. She finished washing in the hot water and then, instead of tipping the water out the window, dunked the dress Beorn made for her into the basin, taking the chance to clean it up. She gave it a good scrub in order to get it clean before wringing it out hard and setting it to hang off the end of her headboard. Hopefully it would be dry enough to pack by the next morning, she hated musty smelling clothes.

She tugged on a long deep red tunic and curled up in her nest with the sound of Dwarves singing around her.

It wasn't bad, she decided as her eyes drifted shut. Going to sleep like this.

They had surprisingly nice singing voices.

_**000**_

**Bit different to canon. I always wondered why they didn't just bullshit their way into Lake Town with Bard like that. Surely a smuggler would cost a hell of a lot more than the toll into the town, they don't have to mention anything to do with the Woodland Realm.**

**It wasn't like they would be able to check.**

**But alas, Dwarves and their honour. It probably never even crossed their minds to fib.**


	15. By the Light of the Moon

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN – By the Light of the Moon**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**IMPORTANT NOTE:****  
I've uploaded a Poll on my profile dictating pairings for this fic and a little info on how they affect the second half of the story. Give it a look, vote, tell me what you think in the reviews here. The winner of the Poll **_might_** not be the pairing the story ends up with, I'm using this as strictly an idea of which way the readers are leaning on what they want to see in later chapters. If I get a really good argument for one pairing over another, then that's the one I go for. I'm okay with either of them.**

It was decided that they would spend another day in Lake Town before leaving at sundown. Given the size and nature of the Orc pack on their heels, the group didn't want to linger in Lake Town for longer than the two nights as surely the beasts would be on their heels. And they were not the kind of hunters that would be cowed by something as benign as a city of Men over deep water.

There had been talk of telling the city Master about their mission but Willow of all individuals shut that avenue down.

"We're best keeping our true purpose here secret," she protested when it was brought up, frowning from where she was bundled up in a blanket to fend off the chill of the lake. "If this goes wrong, and the dragon attacks Lake Town, the Dwarves will suffer the backlash. Men may not live as long, but they hold grudges just as well as you do, and they are bigger in number. Your kin would suffer the consequences if it becomes known," she pointed out grimly, her green eyes dark and sad. "Best we return victorious, than leave hopeful."

Balin nodded along throughout her explanation, "I'm with the lassie on this. Better to gain the goodwill through successful action than a future plan. At _best_ we can expect trade to the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains to dry up if this goes wrong. At worse... our kin could have a War against Men on their hands," he summed up darkly, looking to his King. "Our position is precarious. Everyone will be wanting a piece of the reclaimed treasure once we have it. All prior grievances will be brought to the table and restitution will be demanded. Better to wait, send word to the Iron Hills and receive a support force before making our success known."

Gloin nodded, "Dinnae worry. I'll have the accounting sorted before the end of Spring, make no mistake," he declared firmly.

"We're counting on you Gloin. We may not have that much time in luxury," Thorin rumbled doubtfully.

"The elves will be the first group we have to deal with after Smaug is done with," Willow stated softly, "They will sense his demise almost immediately. His presence casts a shroud over the land, suffocating life. They will know when he passes and -" she cut herself off with a grimace of disgust, "- the King will come. Likely as not with an army behind him. He knows he will gain nothing through peaceful negotiation. He will try to use intimidation and then force to get what he wants. We need some manner of plan to deal with him sorted as soon as possible," she declared firmly, looking to Balin and Thorin.

"That white Worm gets nothing," Thorin snarled.

Willow shook her head, "We may not have a choice. No, Thorin, hear me out before casting my words aside," she demanded, lifting a hand to silence him when she saw him open his mouth to snarl at her again. Thankfully he subsided and let her speak, brooding in his chair, blue eyes glaring at her accusingly. "I don't know what Thranduil wants out of Erebor, but the fact remains that _he_ is the power in these lands. Lake Town _needs_ his good will to survive, as a vast amount of their trade comes from the Woodland Realm. I am sorry to point out the cold truth, but right now, if we were to take Erebor in the next day, so would we be reliant on Lake Town, thus the Woodland Realm by proxy. There are no food stores that will have lasted long enough. I have very little doubt that the water systems will not be safe for drinking. If Smaug has not befouled them himself, then time and lack of care will have in one large or small way. Then we must deal with the bodies of your kin which are no doubt hidden in the smaller halls who were unable to escape. Once the dragon is dead, making Erebor liveable enough for a support army from the Iron Hills, never mind ourselves, will be beyond a massive task and that is ignoring the gold and the structural damage to your halls that having a dragon inside will have caused. Can you guarantee the forges are safe? What of the mines, the underground rivers and lakes?

"We may have to give the elves what they want so we can deal with our own problems first. I know it goes against your pride as King and as Dwarves of Erebor, but this isn't the time for pride. It's the time for Progress and Hard Work. Neither of which can be done with an army breathing down our necks, and the ill will of our nearest neighbours when we cannot even feed or water ourselves," she declared passionately, her eyebrows knitted together fiercely as she faced down the Dwarven King at the other end of the table. Unknowingly referring to them as a whole, her words making it clear to her companions that she was with them until the end.

"And when they come back with their army, demanding more, what then? We will see our Halls _empty_ before our kin return to their home!" Thorin rumbled angrily.

Willow nodded, "That is a concern, yes. Were we speaking of Lord Elrond I could assure you without doubt that such a thing wouldn't happen. But Thranduil is a very different creature, and a singularly unpleasant one at that," she added unhappily as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Any ideas?" she asked looking to the rest of the party, ignoring the expressions of surprise and startlement that their opinions were even being asked.

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

"I-if," Kili started uncertainly, shrinking away a little as all eyes turned to him and then straightening stubbornly, "If it were to protect our kin, giving away the gold would be a small price to pay to guarantee our Home for them, wouldn't it?" he asked anxiously, looking between his various elders.

Dwalin grimaced unhappily, sharing a look with Gloin while Fili hummed and Thorin scowled, "That gold is the legacy of the Dwarves of Erebor. It's value doesn't lie in its properties but in the work and effort it took to craft it from stone into art. The efforts of our forefathers are beyond value and I will not see them in the hands of the very Elves who refused to aid them," Thorin growled darkly.

"P-perhaps a contract?" Ori piped up, shifting on his chair. "When the elves come, draw up a contract. We-we give them what they want this _one_ time, and all prior grievances are negated. They get payment this one time and that's it. To return would be to break the contract."

"Elves dinnae follow Contracts," Dwalin growled unhappily, "Untrustworthy lot. A contract to them would be worth about as much as the paper it's written on."

Willow however was nodded, "That's not a bad idea, Ori," she said her mind racing.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Dwalin demanded scowling.

"Yes. But when it's a contract witnessed by not only the King of Erebor, the King of the Woodland Realm, the Mayor of Lake Town, _and_ a member of the White Council?" she asked, looking up at him with gleefully shining eyes. "Oh, I don't think Thranduil will have much of a choice but to adhere to the stipulations. Especially if we ensure that the contract is copied and forwarded to _every_ Dwarven and Elvish Kingdom along with a few to the archives of Men and the other members of the White Council. If my estimation of Thranduil's character is accurate, he is incredibly proud and while he believes himself to be the highest authority in his land, he does not care for those outside of it. If we make it too much of a potential hindrance to turn against us, earning him ill-will from all potential allies, then I cannot imagine he would risk it. He is the _great_ Elven King. I do not think he would stand to be known as the _Dishonourable_ Elven King. All we need do is hold him off long enough for Gandalf to return and facilitate as witness."

There was a pause amidst the Dwarves as they mulled this over.

"We still cannot guarantee it..." Thorin complained softly, but his protest was weak at best and they could all hear the crumbling objection in his tone.

"Nothing in life is guaranteed," Willow agreed. Never the less, they wrote up the rough copy of the contract anyway and left it within Ori's care, as it had been his idea.

They left that night.

They made sure to settle their debts with the Inn-Keeper earlier in the day (they even got some coin back as they did not take the full three days hospitality they paid for) so there could be no mistake that they had _left_ early. They had even bought a pair of boats to take them up the river with the understanding that they got them at a reduced price because they would be left on the shore to be picked up by the Bargeman at a later date. With that under their belts (again at Willow's suggestion – she was proving to be very wily with these sorts of things), they sailed out in order to wait for nightfall before the Dwarves made their way to the Guardshouse and made off with the weapons and armour they needed.

They sailed away into the night, heading up river by cover of darkness. Willow and Kili leading the way as the two with the best eyesight – even if one of them had to regularly be asked to keep her eyes open and to breathe on occasion.

By the time dawn was cresting the horizon, it was a _very_ happy Willow who was being helped off the boat by a grinning Bofur who offered her a cheeky wink as he very loudly interjected into Fili and Kili's conversation about what they would do when they finally got to Erebor.

"So, when's the wedding?" he called, Willow snorted and pressed a hand over her face in mirth and horror. Of course Bofur wasn't going to let that go. Judging by the looks on Dwalin, Balin, Nori, and Bombur's faces, they hadn't forgotten either, and slow smirks and grins were beginning to grow on their faces.

Fili blinked, "Wedding? There's a wedding? Whose wedding?" he asked rapidly, looking between his little brother and the Miner.

Bofur grinned, "Why, Mistress Proudfoot's to the House of Durin, which one of you lucky lads is getting the lovely Lady?" he asked brightly as Kili groaned and his brother started to laugh.

"Well it certainly can't be Kili, he wouldn't know how to take care of a Lady," Fili declared playfully, only to get roughly shoved by his younger brother.

"Look what you've started now Bofur," Willow scolded quietly, slapping his arm with a shake of her head as the two brothers started wrestling, Fili having pounced on his younger brother.

"Contractually obliged as the non-related crazy uncle to tease. I had no choice, my Lady Queen," he quipped, doffing his hat and giving her the most theatrical bow she had ever seen out of anyone besides her baby cousin Paladin Took, and he certainly looked a lot more adorable doing it than a Dwarf! In retort, she grabbed the back of his shirt while he was bent over and yanked it over his head.

"Lady Queen my oversized fluffy foot!" she declared with a laugh.

"I don't know. I think you'd make a good Queen," Bombur told her sincerely with a bright smile, "You certainly care about the people around you enough. And you're smart and understand things that could affect us. And you're not afraid of Thorin," he added as if that was the deal breaker.

"It helps that I know he won't try to kill me," the female told him with a chuckle, "But no, Bombur, I would make for a terrible Queen, King, or just about any kind of Leader. The idea of that much responsibility, of holding that many lives in the palms of my hands, ugh, I shiver just to think about it. It is a _very_ scary concept," she admitted with a wry smile as the group trekked their way towards the footholds of the mountain. She hadn't liked it in her first life. She was no Neville Longbottom that was for certain.

"Then yer already a better candidate than any number of young fools I could think of," Balin chuckled, nodding to the wrestling brothers.

Willow laughed shaking her head, "To be Queen of anything I would need to marry into a Royal line, or see my cousin Paladin die before he marries. Not something I'm particularly keen on happening," she declared with a wince. Paladin was one of her few Tookish relatives who did not find her too wild or queer to play with, he was still just a child though – scarcely twenty if she recalled, though she was probably wrong. Her heart would surely bleed if he died before his time.

"Your cousin is of Royal blood?" Nori asked in surprise.

She pulled a face, "Hobbits don't have Royals as such. But he is Old Took's Grandson, meaning he will inherit Thainship of the Shire and of Hobbiton itself when he comes of age. Since I'm engaged to the son of the Thain's eldest daughter, if Paladin were to die before his time without an heir, it would pass to him even though he is the heir to a different line." She had never been great on Hobbitish genealogy – yet another quirk of hers that set her apart from her kin as almost every Hobbit took such things _very_ seriously – but she knew that Belladonna Took was the Thain's eldest daughter, and the only surviving one of her sisters with her only remaining brother being Hildigrim Took, Paladin's father. Willowyn's mother being Belladonna's second cousin thrice removed (she thought that was it. They shared the same great-grandfather, the younger brother of Bullroarer Took's mother), they had been close while growing up, everyone had assumed she and Bilbo would be together simply because of her similarities to Belladonna. A kind woman she had not the time to know as well as she would have liked. When her father threw her out, it was Bilbo who took her home, and Belladonna who made her stay despite her better judgement. She had remained behind in Bag-End during the Fell Winter when Belladonna had left to see her Took family in Tuckborough. She had been nineteen then. Not yet an acquaintance of the Rangers. Untrained and a burden, she had refused to accompany Belladonna on her journey, believing that she would only get in the way. She had regretted it every time she thought of the vivacious and curious Hobbit woman who had been attacked by Wolves on her journey. Constant thoughts of 'if only I'd been there', and 'she might have lived if she had help in the fighting', never mind that at nineteen she would have only been a hindrance. She stayed with Bilbo in Bag-End, his father, Bungo, having passed years before. She had been the one to arrange Belladonna's funeral when word finally reached them with the Spring-melt, Bilbo too far lost to his grief to even groom himself or cook his meals. She had been the one to wipe his tears, care for his home, and then drive the cart to pick up what little remains they had been able to find. She arranged the funeral, dressed the body, contacted those who needed to be contacted them, provided the hospitalities and all of the other little things that were to be expected while Bilbo near-enough wasted away until she finally lost her temper and slapped some sense into him.

"You're engaged?!" Bofur yelped, _loudly_, "For _real_?! Wh- You – how – what kind of useless layabout husband do you have to let you come on this kind of Quest alone?!" he squawked furiously, catching the attention of the whole group.

Willow snorted and kicked the back of his knee out hard enough to send him toppling into the gravel they were travelling across. "We aren't married yet, Bofur!" she told him with a laugh, "I'm not old enough to marry. And besides which, you've already met him. Bilbo. I'm engaged to Bilbo, and you damn well know I'm not about to let a doughy potato like that face a Dragon!"

"But, you called him your brother!" Fili protested from where he had his younger sibling in a loose headlock, he had stopped choking his little brother at Bofur's horrified exclamation, but not let go.

Willow nodded, "In everything but blood." Seeing the looks of confusion on their faces she remembered some of what Ori told her when she complained to him once of over-protective Dwarves. "Bilbo... Bilbo only had eyes for one lad when we were growing up, I don't think he would have made a move if I hadn't prompted him but if anyone knew about them, it would ruin him. Hobbits don't look well on lads being with other lads, or lasses being with other lasses. Our engagement has nothing to do with romantic love, and everything to do with protecting each other. I can protect Bilbo from backlash that his preferences would cause, and when I'm older, his reputation will protect me from the backlash that my actions now and previously would cause. I'm always going to be a pariah and looked down on, but at least our children won't be treated the same way thanks to him. And I do want children someday. Lot's of them," she added with a grin. Even as Harry she had wanted children, though she felt unfair to her poor wife asking for the twelve children that she really wanted, and in this life could have – Hobbits were very much like rabbits, they bred like them too. She wanted as many children as her body could handle in this life, and Bilbo, who had been an only child, was quite happy to be the father of those children when they finally wed. They had spoken on the topic at length in the Winter months, curled up on their chairs in front of the fire.

"So... he isn't your One?" Dori asked, his eyes wide.

Willow shrugged a shoulder, "No. I don't think I'll ever find my One. But that's okay. I don't think any Hobbit would be willing to put up with me after this," she said laughing, "You all have thoroughly ruined me for a peaceful life in a Burrow."

"Well, you'll just have to stay with us then!" Kili declared with a grin as he tripped his brother over. "You can just marry into our line, like we said. How about this fine example of a Dwarf? I promise he's housetrained," the dark haired youth proclaimed mirthfully as he presented his brother to her.

"More than I can say for you, little brother!"

And they were off again, wrestling as the rest of the group continued to walk in high – if tired – spirits towards the mountain.

They had three days to find the door.

_**000**_

The land surrounding the mountain was desolate, scorched black and dead, choking with ash and stone. Willow shifted deeper into her cloak as they climbed, scowling unhappily as her eyes flickered over the dead land. It had been almost two hundred years, surely this land was not so blighted that grass would not grow? But it was. She could feel it with every breath she took, the heat of the ground beneath her feet. This land had felt dragon fire and not forgotten. The shadow of the beast lingered, its presence a burning scar upon the ground. She slept with the screams of a thousand lives dying in her ears.

It had taken them two days to find the hidden stairway, today was Durin's day and the Dwarves were nearly beside themselves with impatience to get to the door, to find it before the sunset. It felt... a little disrespectful to climb the giant statue of a Dwarf that Balin quietly told her was carved into the likeness of Thorin's grandfather, Thror, even if their oh so precious door was hidden on a narrow ledge behind the bulge of his shoulder. It was a nice spot, she decided as she hauled herself up to join them, dusting her trousers and hands of dirt and silt.

She looked out over the edge of the cliff, shielding her eyes from the sun, it was a beautiful vista. The world laid out at her feet. It felt like she could jump and be swept away by the wind at any moment.

"This must be it... The Hidden Door," she heard Thorin breathe as the rest of the company scrambled up to join them. "Let all those who doubted us _rue this day!_" the Dwarf King exclaimed, grinning as he held the key to the door aloft as his kin broke into cheers around him. Willow laughed as Bombur whisked her up into a jubilant hug, near enough sobbing with happiness.

"Come now, dry those tears. Save them for when your family join you, for the first Feast of Erebor Reclaimed!" she told him, cupping his soft cheeks and wiping them away. He nodded, still sobbing and laughing at the same time. The both of them gathered everyone's bags and set them to one side where they could easily be picked up at a moment's notice – this was still a Dragon's Mountain after all. There was time enough for food and drink, sunset was still half a day away as the merry group laughed and took a moment to savour their success.

"I don't think I've ever seen Uncle Thorin smile this hard. Save maybe when Kili was born," Fili admitted, watching his Uncle (the only father he remembered), grin and laugh with Dwalin and Bifur, the three of them carefully running their fingers across the wall as if it were the greatest, most delicate treasure in the world that one careless touch could destroy.

Willow hummed, "Maybe now that Erebor is Reclaimed, he will smile more?" she suggested, gratefully accepting the waterskin he offered.

"Aye, we hope so," Kili said, sitting down on her other side with a large chunk of bread which he tore into three and shared between them. "Uncle Thorin's always been wound up tighter than a - "He glanced at Willow before coughing awkwardly, " - well, he's never really been happy or relaxed. It's always been serious this and grumpy that. Save when we were children. I think he would probably die of embarrassment if he knew we still remembered jousting against each other on his and Dwalin's backs," he admitted with mirthful eyes.

"Jousting?" Willow echoed mirthfully.

Fili grinned, "Oh yes. It was our favourite thing as children. Uncle Thorin and Dwalin would be on their hands and knees, they'd give us these wooden staffs with big chunks of soft lead covered with straw stuffed pillows and charge right at each other while we tried to knock each other off the adults. Great fun. Mother thought it was hilarious though she never let them know she caught them in the act once or twice." He smiled fondly as he looked over his shoulder, pain and sadness colouring the expression as he watched his Uncle gently tapping against the stone wall, "He blamed himself for every life we lost after Erebor. Every Dwarf, Dwarrowdam, and child that could have lived had they a Hall to shelter in. He was barely more than a child himself when Grandfather went missing and suddenly he was responsible for an entire Kingdom of people. He was never able to really mourn his losses, not like everyone else. He had to become as hard and unforgiving as rock and iron to protect us. But he couldn't protect everyone and while no one blamed him, how could they? He was just a child, great Warrior though he was. But he definitely blamed himself. It's a pain he still carries, even now."

Willow stared down at her feet, she didn't know how someone could handle that kind of burden. She thought she could, after all, she had been the Chosen One in her prior life, she had been a Protector of the Shire in this one – and had taken it very seriously. But, no, she could not relate nor could she understand that pain, that weight.

She nodded slowly, "He's a Great Dwarf," she admitted softly, "You all are." _I hope this works out, I hope you're able to return home, I hope Thorin is able to laugh and smile and cry and feel, I hope you marry and have children and live happily and die long after I do, I hope, I hope, I hope._

_I wish..._

She didn't say those things, she couldn't, the words were stuck in her chest but perhaps they already knew as the two brothers threw their arms around her in a crushing hug. She laughed as they rubbed their cheeks against her head, beards scratchy and ticklish.

"Oi, you can't have them both!" Bofur called over playfully, "What _would_ their mother say?"

Thorin snorted, "That she should have expected it since they've shared everything else in their lives. And that she wouldn't wish such a fate on any female," he retorted with a grin as his nephews (sons) exchanged looks over the Hobbit's head and then looked at him with the biggest most pleading pair of eyes they could.

"Uncle Thooooooooriiiiiin! She followed us home! Can we keep her?" they whined in unison.

Willow laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation because she couldn't even deny it, she _had_ followed them home!

"Is she housetrained?" the Dwarven King asked dryly.

Willow yelped in outrage while the boys wisely let go, hiding their laughter as the Hobbit snapped up the nearest rock and lobbed it at the blue eyed Dwarf, forcing him to duck to one side in order to avoid it.

"You cheeky – go back to looking for your door Master Dwarf before I show you how trained I am!" she huffed, glaring at him even as her mouth twitched with good humour at the needlessly theatrical bow he gave her before doing just that.

Sadly, the good humour was not to last as the hours marched on, the sun began to sink, and not a single sign of the keyhole had been found.

"It _must_ be here," the once again scowling King growled, hands frantically scratching across the stone work as everyone searched the walls.

Willow had joined them not long after the sky began to pinken, her fingers tearing away plant-life to look for holes as moss and lichen had a habit of growing in places like that, anywhere a seed could drift and find a moist spot to germinate. She could hear Dwalin getting more frantic, hitting the wall, kicking at it in the hopes of something, _anything_. Nori was tapping the rock with a spoon, his ear to a cup against the rock to listen for echoes.

She suddenly felt an arm pulling her away from the wall, "Break it down!" Thorin snarled, frantic as he looked between the sun dipping beneath the mountains, the rising line of shadow slowly creeping closer and closer to their door like the rising tide of despair.

Dwalin, Gloin, and Bifur took to the wall with battle axes and hammers stolen from Lake Town, aiming along cracks in the rock and chipping stone away but not revealing a door seam or keyhole or anything.

"Come on!" Thorin shouted at them, at the door, she couldn't tell, his grip on her waist was getting tighter the more agitated he became.

"It's no good!" Balin finally barked his face twisted, "The door's sealed! It can't be opened by force!" he shouted at them as the sun dipped beneath the mountains, a faint shadowy glow filling the small cliff-ledge, "Powerful magic on it," he muttered in defeat.

Thorin looked at the sun as the others stopped, their weapons dropping to the ground, "No!" He dropped her and swept forward, his hands going into his tunic to find the map, there must have been something! Willow shifted, feeling Ori at her side, he was shaking. They watched helplessly as the Dwarf King frantically reread the map, "The Last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole," he recited, looking up at them with such an expression of bewildered loss and helplessness that it was almost heartbreaking. "That's what it says... What did we miss?" he asked shakily, "What did we miss Balin?" Balin would know, he always had the answer, ever since he was a child and only just stepping into the shoes of Dwarves far greater than he himself. Balin would know. He _had_ to know.

The white haired Dwarf looked like he had aged another eighty years, he shook his head, his voice rough, "We've lost the light. There's no more to be done. We had but one chance."

She couldn't – no, it _couldn't_ end like this! It just couldn't!

"It can't be – no!" she exclaimed as she saw their shoulders slump, the light in their eyes go. It was painful, the hopelessness, the defeat. "No! You can't give up just yet!" she shouted as the first of them began to go down the mountain, grabbing their bags in one hand, not even trying to put them on just... dragging them behind.

There had to be something!

"Didn't you say there were Moon Runes on the map?" she shouted as the group moved away only to stop. "And are there not doors that become visible only in the light of the moon? Balin! You told me that yourself! That Moria's gates could only be seen in the light of the Moon! We are _here_! The day is not yet done! You can't give up now! Not until the sun crests that horizon again will hope be lost!" she shouted, they couldn't give up, they just couldn't!

She turned and she marched over to Thorin and roughly snatched the map from his fingers, scowling when she realised she could not read Khuzdul, but she never the less returned to the wall, fingers gently probing the rock.

"I'm not giving up until this door is found or a new day breaks over the horizon," she growled, "I'm not!"

She didn't know if they left or if they stayed, she could barely see a thing in the darkness but she stubbornly kept searching anyway. Tiny fingers probing into cracks and -

She felt a hole.

Not jagged and sharp, but almost perfectly round with a slit running down the bottom, she traced the edges carefully, her eyes growing wide as she felt out what was _unmistakably_ a keyhole.

A keyhole she could _see_ as the moonlight spilled down from behind the statue of Thror's head.

"I found it..." she breathed, turning – she wasn't alone. Fili, Kili, Gloin, Bombur, Bofur and Bifur stared at her with large eyes as she moved aside, the light of the moon spilling visibly onto the keyhole. "I found it," she repeated louder.

Fili choked, and Gloin's eyes filled with tears.

Bifur turned and wasted no time shouting down the mountain, his voice tearing through the air like a roar as he called for the others.

Gloin lunged forward and swept her up laughing, crying, cheering in Khuzdul as he spun her around, holding her tightly, no sooner than she had been set down than both Fili and Kili took his place, burying their faces in her neck to hide their tears as they crushed her between them with hoarse cheers and words of gratitude.

"Uncle," Fili said, his voice cracking and breaking as he turned to the others, hearing their boots upon the stone. "She found it."

_**000**_

**I always wondered why they didn't twig on the whole 'moon' thing. But I guess grief and disappointment can blind you to more than a little degree.**

**IMPORTANT NOTE:****  
I've uploaded a Poll on my profile dictating pairings for this fic and a little info on how they affect the second half of the story. Give it a look, vote, tell me what you think in the reviews here. The winner of the Poll **_might_** not be the pairing the story ends up with, I'm using this as strictly an idea of which way the readers are leaning on what they want to see in later chapters. If I get a really good argument for one pairing over another, then that's the one I go for. I'm okay with either of them.**


	16. Smaug

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN – Smaug**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**The smell that billowed out from Erebor made her light headed and nauseous.** She could feel herself almost _swooning_ of all bloody things in both Fili and Kili's grasp though thankfully they didn't notice. It didn't smell like sulphur and musk like she expected, like she had experienced from Romania. If asked, she didn't think she could describe it accurately, that smell. Stagnant air, slime, death, and the most god-awful morning breath to have ever been expelled from any living being perhaps.

Slowly, with awe-filled reverence, the Dwarves slowly re-entered their long lost home. Both Fili and Kili slipping away from her side to do the same.

She smiled, watching as the thirteen stepped into the mountain, their hands upon the walls as if they were in a dream of their own making.

She let them have their moment and turned to face the moon that gleamed so high-above with bright white light. She went to her bag and withdrew a stick of charcoal and stained the edges of the door and circled the keyhole so that they could find it again in the daylight hours.

"Mistress Proudfoot," Thorin called, catching her attention as she finished rubbing the coal onto the stone, "It is time to do what we have brought you here for," he announced strongly as she rose to her feet. She frowned a moment, wondering why _now_? They had been looking all day, surely it would be better to sleep and enter properly in the morning when they were all rested? And what of Gandalf? He told them to wait at Dale, but they pushed on regardless because they were on a time limit, a time limit they no longer had now that the door was open. What was the rush? The Mountain wasn't going anywhere, neither was the Dragon or his treasure, and it wasn't as if the land beyond Dale was barren, they could hunt and survive well enough and even fish just past the burnt city so what...

Ah, the Orc Pack. If a city of Men was not enough to stop then being in the shadow of a Dragon Mountain wouldn't. No, they needed into the mountain for their own protection. Quite literally between a rock and a hard place at this point – they couldn't fight an entire Orc Pack on their own.

So, she had a job to do and then they could make their escape and call the Dwarf Clans they needed to wage war upon the Dragon. They needed their Burglar. Their Thief.

She nodded, "What am I looking for?" she asked, lifting her head.

Thorin swallowed, "A white gem that glows with inner light. No smaller than the palm of your hand," he explained hoarsely.

She nodded thoughtfully, "Where was it lost? I will start searching in that area," she explained, it was unlikely to still be there but it would give her a point of reference to start looking.

"Towards the front entrance of the Grand Hall. Balin will lead you to the Great Hall, head to the right until you find a narrow arch-way with that design above it," Thorin explained, pointing to a stone relief above their door.

Willow examined it carefully. Diamond shape, surrounded by slashes of stone depicting light coming off or toward said stone. Knowing that the jewel they wanted glowed, she was willing to bet it symbolised light coming off that stone instead of into it. She nodded and unslung her bag, shrugging out of her cloak at the same time. She paused, fingers lingering over her pocket before removing the Ring as well and tucking it into her bag.

"Right," she muttered before looking over at them, all their faces filled with trust and hope. Trust in her, hope that she would pull through for them. She had forgotten what it was like to be looked upon like that. It had been so long. She hadn't realised that it was something that could be missed when she hadn't wanted it at all the first time. "Balin," she said, looking to the senior Dwarf, one of the first to know of her true gender, "If you would please lead the way. Everyone..." she paused a moment, wondering what to say, "Wish me luck," she said before turning and following after Balin, their voices fading from her ears.

Balin stopped a corridor away from the Great Hall, "Just continue down here and make a right, Lassie," he told her in an undertone. She nodded and Balin caught her arm before she moved off, "Lassie... ye don't have to do this," he told her softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. It was only a few days prior that it _truly_ struck home to him just how young this girl was. Not yet old enough to marry, but brave and sure enough to travel across the world to help a group of cantankerous old Dwarves, to face her biggest fears and stand between them and death and outsmart Elves and Trolls to protect them. She was a treasure more valuable than all the gold in Erebor. A child he would have been proud to call his own, a child he was _achingly_ proud of none the less. "There's no dishonour in turning back," he told her, gripping her arm tight.

Malachite eyes softened and a smile crossed her mouth as she reached out and hugged him tightly, "Perhaps, but I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I did not at least try," she said softly before pressing a kiss to his withered cheek, "Thank you Balin. For caring. For teaching me, for bringing me with you even when you didn't wish to," she said as she pulled away.

She turned and walked away down the stairs, feeling Balin's eyes lingering on her until she turned the corner and stepped out of sight.

The smell got stronger the further down she went, it was enough to make her light headed as she had to stop and lean against the wall, her hip _burning_ with the exertion of the long climb, and now the cold of the mountain hall.

And then she got a look at the Great Hall.

"They want me... to find... a jewel no bigger than my palm... in _this_?" she breathed, staring at the _literal_ **mountains** of treasure and gold and jewels that filled the Hall.

Not even if she had the life-span of a Dwarf would she be able to sift through all of this alone and find that stone.

Not even if she had the lifespan of an _elf_!

And she had to do this impossible task while trapped in here with a Dragon.

Not even if she had drank a whole cauldron of Felix Felicis would she have managed this task.

She sat upon the stone steps and just stared at the insurmountable task in front of her and tried to think of another way. She couldn't sift through it all, and the chances of it just cheerfully laying on top of all the gold were so ridiculously tiny that had it truly occurred then she would have believed Fate's hand in arranging it so. She had to think of another way. One that wouldn't get her friends killed, one that wouldn't get her killed (just because things had been shitty until this adventure was no reason to give it up now. She was young. It would get better).

If only this were as easy as dealing with the Goblins about _their_ Dragons and treasure. All she had to do back then was just trade them another dragon for their stolen... one...

An idea began to unfurl in her mind.

It was outrageous, stupidly dangerous, completely unbelievable... but those sorts of plans were usually the ones that worked in her experience.

She jumped to her feet and raced back to the others.

They heard her coming long before they saw her, "Willow, what's wrong? Did you find it?" Bofur asked as she slowed to a stop in front of them panting and gripping the wall. She shook her head, ignoring their groans of dismay.

"Not even if I had the lifetime of an elf could I search that treasure pile," she gasped before marching over to her backpack, "I have another idea. It's crazy, but it might work," she declared as she dug into her bag and pulled out the plain dark blue woollen dress that Dori had picked up for her. "You could have warned me about the quite literal _mountains_ of gold and jewels you had," she added, glancing at Thorin as she shrugged out of her waist-coat and then dragged the blue dress over her head and down into place.

"The mountains of treasure are unimportant compared to the stone," the Dwarf stated gruffly, watching her with bewilderment as she pulled her hair loose and shook the long curls out, "What are you doing?" he demanded as she dragged a blue ribbon from another pocket and threaded it into her hair.

"Something very stupid that could very probably get me killed. Don't come after me," she told him as she got to her feet and pulled the dress into a comfortable position. It dropped down and dragged on the floor much to her annoyance but there was no helping it now she decided as she made her way back in the direction of the Great Hall, patting Thorin on the shoulder as she passed. "If it works, it will definitely be one for the History Books," she told him before disappearing into the darkness, leaving a group of very concerned Dwarves behind her.

Marching into the Great Hall, she paused at the top of the staircase before digging under the dress for that stick of charcoal in her pocket. She wrote a message to the Dwarves of her true intentions, what she was doing, on the floor so that if someone else got the same idea and she failed, they would know not to try again.

Taking a deep breath, she dusted the coal from her hands and squared her shoulders.

Show time.

She stepped off the stairs and onto the gold, trying not to wince as the coins crunched and clinked against one another as she stepped across them. She could see a great many beautiful things around her, jewellery encrusted with pearls and diamonds and sapphires, engraved shields of gold and something that looked like silver but paler. Chunks of ruby the size of her head, swords and golden goblets , and elaborate nets of pearls and gemstones. She could understand Thorin's desire to keep such things away from the hands of the elves who would admire them purely for their beauty, and not for the effort or the care that went into creating them.

She walked slowly across the middle-level of the golden mountains, looking for any sign of her Dragon host, her eyes skimming the piles of gold with distant interest until she heard a faint shifting of coins behind her.

Oh.

She had not thought that perhaps the dragon would sleep _inside_ the piles the gold.

She turned, trying to calm her raging heartbeat as the coins cascaded down like a river of gold, revealing an eyebrow ridge, and then an eye.

Both of which being considerably larger than any of the dragons she recalled from her past.

He seemed to be sleeping.

She took a deep breath and slowly sank down to sit upon the piles of gold, swallowing hard against her desire to run to the near-by pillar, or back out of the entrance to hide with the others and tell them she couldn't do it. She laid her shaking hands in her lap, gripping her fingers tightly as she waited for whatever would happen next. She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths, in and out, in and out, trying to centre herself and calm her fears. Stories of Dragons were sometimes told to excitable Fauntlings, and it was to them that she paid the most attention to, tales of Wizards and Dragons and Goblins, in the hopes of something from her past, but never did she hear of anything. Those stories now, would serve her well if their lessons were true.

She heard a loud exhale and the sound of coins flying every which way and fought not to flinch.

She continued to breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

The golden mountain of the beast's head heaved and shifted like a wave.

She swallowed her fear and opened her eyes, watching as the dragon's scaled lids pulled back and open, a second eyelid, much like that of a crocodile's following behind. His eyes were beautiful, though the pupil was very curiously shaped. She watched as those curious pupils contracted and shifted and then landed upon her and paused. The dragon blinked, seemingly bewildered.

She lifted her hands, palms up and open, and bowed her head forward respectfully to show she held nothing within her hands.

"Great Dragon Lord Smaug, it is an honour to sit before you within these Halls," she intoned as strongly as she could and then fell still, not moving, nor dropping her arms as she heard the cascading fall of gold and silver rain down as he lifted himself from his bed.

She heard a threatening rumble but did not raise her head as she felt what was unmistakably the creature's head lean forward and inhale _deeply_, enough so that her hair and clothes moved with the passage of air. Undoubtedly he could smell that she was not Dwarvish, but also that she had been travelling with them and passed through a City of Man – Lake Town.

"**You seem familiar with my name, but I don't remember smelling your kind before. Who are you, and where do you come from, may I ****ask****?**" she heard the beast rumble, his voice filling her head and her lungs and rattling through her very bones, hissing and growling and so full of threat and malice she had to close her eyes and swallow hard against her nausea once again.

"Great Dragon Lord, I come from the West, beyond the fangs of rock and stone, over oceans of light and darkness, beyond a veil of time and memory. I am She who Rides the Wind, Blessed by the Lady of Luck and Cursed by the Mistress of Misfortune, I speak for those with No Voice," she declared, recalling from her youth that Dragons had a particular love of Riddles and Puzzling Talk, and considered those with Grand Titles worthier of notice than others.

"**She Who Rides the Wind,**" the Dragon echoed thoughtfully, "**Such lovely titles for one so small**," he rumbled.

"I am unworthy of Your words, Great Dragon Lord," Willow demurred, still holding her position of head down and palms up.

"**And what of your little Dwarf friends? Where are they hiding?**" he croaked lowly, she swallowed as she felt him move, gold sloughing from his form as he slowly circled her, his entire body slithering in an arc.

"Beyond Arches and Halls within the Light of the Moon I bade them wait," she explained, her throat threatening to close with terror as a claw _ever_ so gently touched her back and moved, lifting her hair. Dragons had a different field of vision compared to humans and even most animals, she wondered how her hair must look to him being so curled as neither Dwarves nor Elves were known for such things.

"**So they sent you in here to do their dirty work, Wind Rider, while they skulk about outside,**" he growled thunderously.

"Teachers, Protectors, and Guides alone for I did not know the way to Your Grand Halls, Great Dragon Lord," she explained only gasp in fright, her body going cold as she felt the claw that held her hair suddenly hook under her arm and _pull_.

Not hard, but enough to have her sat upright. It seemed that for all the beast's incredible size and strength, he had some knowledge and awareness of how delicate a being as tiny and unarmoured as herself could be.

Emerald met gold and her breath caught in her throat as the enormity of what she was doing struck her yet again.

What was she _doing_ parleying with a Dragon?

She trembled violently, her mind falling blank as the beast brought his snout in closer and inhaled her scent once again – no doubt he could smell the cold sweat and fear that poured from her body.

"Y-you have beautiful eyes," she found herself blurting out, quite stupidly, and then realising what had just passed her lips as the dragon jerked his head back. She slapped both hands over her mouth and flung herself down into another bow, pressing her forehead so low the coins dug grooves into her skin. "F-forgive me, My Lord, I spoke out of turn!"

"**You have nice manners...**" he drawled, "**I find it strange that you would present yourself so brazenly before me. Just what is your purpose here, if I may ask?**"

"I-I speak for One who is not here, Great Dragon Lord. He has Contracted me to stand before you in the hope of Negotiation," she explained, trembling.

"**You fear me.**"

"I do, Great Dragon Lord. Your power, your deeds and strength, they reverberate across the Land, over mountains and rivers, through the ears of Men and Elf. The Bane of Dwarves. The Desolation of Erebor," she whispered.

She heard another rumble and more shifting gold, the circle around her growing tighter.

"**You have a tongue of silver, Wind Rider, to flatter me so. What Negotiation have you been Contracted to make?**" he asked, claws tapping almost idly upon the gold as he sniffed her once more.

Very slowly, and hesitantly, she rose from her bowing position to sit properly, meeting those queerly amber-gold eyes once again and swallowing, "He desires neither gold nor silver of which he knows you covet deeply, My Lord, he would not dare to insult you so by even allowing such thought," she began first of all and relaxed ever so slightly by the almost purring rumble of approval from the dragon as he lay upon the gold, watching her lazily. "Truly, I would not be here if not for his heart which longs for a possession formerly of his father's, and now yours. A pale white stone, uncut, whose value lies only with the fond memory of a father lost. His desire was for my to negotiate a trade. The white stone, formerly of his father's, for this..." she intoned, shaking hands reaching up to the back of her neck where she unclipped the rose coloured jewel from her throat and held it aloft.

Smaug dipped his head forward to eye the gem intensely.

She watched his eye rove over the tiny piece and sniff deep whatever value he could glean from the gem. "It matches the colour of your scales, My Lord," she murmured softly. She watched as he drew back and seemed to ruminate upon her words, kneading the piles of gold beneath his claws like a cat would its bedding. She waited patiently, necklace placed upon her lap, her hands folded visibly to herself and away from the gold – she didn't want him to get the wrong idea as she allowed him time to gather his thoughts.

"**And what is to stop me from claiming your life and taking such a handsome jewel regardless?**" he rumbled, staring at her.

And even though she knew it was merely to intimidate, her breath hitched anyway.

"T-truly nothing, Great Dragon Lord, s-save perhaps that my Contractor's deep love for his father's memory w-would ensure others to disturb your halls. Others with... less honest ways," she hinted delicately, her voice trembling.

He brought his head down towards her, "**And do you ****belong**** to this Contractor, Wind Rider? Does he ****own**** your life?**" he asked throatily.

She nodded hesitantly, "I... I would assume so, in that I did not expect to survive this venture. Truly, I am but a mote of dust before you, O Great Dragon Lord of Calamity Old. An insect such as I... I did not think I would have the honour of living beyond the pleasure of laying my own eyes upon your Magnificence." She was probably laying it on a little thick, but the direction his words were going was unsettling and he seemed like the type to enjoy being 'buttered up', so to speak.

"**You have been used, Wind Rider. You were only ever a means to an end. He has weighed the value of your life and found it worth nothing,**" the Dragon hissed, looming closer, close enough that she needed only to lean forward before her face would touch his. Instead, she leaned back fearfully, that was a maw of dagger like fangs the length of her forearm and she had no desire to see how sharp they were (not that it would matter, a dragon's jaw strength would ensure her crushed before his teeth would cut). "**And what did he promise you upon the retrieval of this stone? A place at his side? In his bed?**" he growled pushing closer still until she found herself squeaking in dismay and toppling backwards as the coins beneath her shifted.

A claw slammed down around her before she could scramble up and she froze, breaking out into a cold sweat as the two claws on either side of her shifted, pinning her in place as the Dragon loomed over her.

"N-n-no, My Lord," she quivered. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea, she was an idiot. "I-I-I am pr-promised to a-another. H-he was t-to come i-in my stead but-but I could n-not stand b-back and let h-him walk to his death. H-he has done so m-much for me that I-I-" she stuttered as the Dragon leaned forward again sniffing deep for any hint of a lie. "I came to protect him," she whispered, wide eyed as the Dragon's claw pressed to her cheek.

And then suddenly they were gone. Lifted from her as he pulled away and sat straight, sloughing off coins and silver like water.

"**I accept your negotiation, Wind Rider. But that jewel is not enough. I demand more,**" he informed her loftily.

Weak, shaking, she could not move, staring helplessly at the high-dark arches of Erebor's towers and walk ways she panted and sweated cold and fearful.

"I-I did not come with much, M-my Lord. A-a vast number of our supplies w-were stolen by Goblins and Elves upon our trek," she quivered.

He snorted and she heard him slithering further away, "**I am sure we can work something out**," he purred ominously, making her eyes squeeze shut and her whole body shudder hard enough to jangle the gold beneath her. "**Come. Let us find your white jewel.**"

And slowly, she climbed to her feet, still sweating and shaking with terror, because that was what she was here for.

To find the white jewel.

_**000**_

**Oh don't you dare get the wrong idea about Smaug. He is not, in any way, a ****friendly**** dragon, or even a ****nice**** dragon. He has his own agenda and this is the most interesting thing to happen to him in almost two hundred years.**

Voting still open guys, gals, other, misc, pets, Milo.


	17. Victory Long Awaited

**Fate be Changed**

_Reborn as a Hobbit, Willowyn Proudfoot isn't about to let a doughy potato like Bilbo Baggins get himself killed on Gandalf's hairbrained idea of an adventure. She's taking his place. For better or worse._

**WARNING**  
Canon-divergance (in kind of a BIG way in places), fem!Hobbit!Harry, allusions to History and Culture not covered in the films (I did research for this motherfucker and I'm going to damn well show it off), mentioned slash.

_**000**_

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN – Victory long Awaited**

War leaves it's trail  
in moonlight so pale,  
it's shadows they flow  
in rivers, in rivers  
so put on my mask  
I'll go where they ask  
so I might once again see the  
Roses of May  
_(Rose of May – Lyrics written and owned by Erutan/katethegreat19_)

**It did not take long to find the stone, it had been within spitting distance of them the whole time they spoke, lying innocently atop the golden coins as if placed there by the hands of the Gods.** As if by Fate herself.

Willowyn knelt down beside it and gently scooped it into her hand.

"They did say it was a jewel glowing with inner light," she whispered softly, her fingers gently grazing the edges of it. It was smooth like glass, and oddly warm, the light lazily circling within the stone as if a galaxy, a world, a universe, were burning within it. Like a star, she realised, staring at it in shock. Truly this stone could not be...

Smaug watched with unreadable eyes, crouching, half his body in shadow, kneading gold beneath his claws as he fixed his gaze upon her. She took a deep breath and climbed to her feet, she turned to him, "I believe I have found the stone. Could you please escort me from your Halls, Great Lord? I do not wish for there to be any doubt of dishonesty, and... I do not know the way out," she begged, blushing in shame, hugging the stone ever tighter to her chest.

Golden eyes slitted for a heartbeat before he nodded, "**You are wise for one so small. I shall accompany you from these Halls, Wind Rider, we shall discuss payment under the light of the Moon,**" he rumbled, turning and slithering up the piles of gold, towards her original way in.

"As You desire, O Great Dragon Lord," she demurred, trotting along after him as fast as her tiny legs could carry her, scrambling and stumbling upon the gold.

"**You ****Contractor****, did he have a ****name****, may I ask?**" the dragon rumbled as he stopped to allow her to catch up to him, seemingly taking malicious amusement in her struggles.

"H-he called himself Oakenshield. Though I do not think that is his name, Great Dragon Lord," she admitted. That should be a safe name to use, it was not a lie, and it was one that Smaug, having been shut in here for the last sixty years without contact will not have heard she didn't think.

"**Oakenshield,**" he rumbled slowly, "**How decidedly ****elvish**** a name,**" he mocked darkly as he started walking once again.

"As You say, Great Dragon Lord," Willow agreed earnestly chasing after him.

It wasn't until she saw a familiar golden shield that she realised... they were not heading towards the entrance of Erebor.

Alarm shot through her, but she bit her tongue all the same.

She tasted fresh, night air, billowing down through the tunnels and paled as the Dragon chuckled throatily.

"**Did you think I wouldn't guess?**" he demanded lowly.

Suddenly, in a violent motion that flung her off her feet and startled a scream from her lips just by the backlash of air, he whipped around and destroyed one of the nearest tower supports , bringing it down with an almighty crash that flung up waves of gold that washed over her. She struggled and heaved under it for it was a great weight, that much metal falling upon her.

He brought his face down low and leered at her, "**I have decided upon my payment, ****Wind Rider****,**" he growled.

"Willowyn!"

She blanched as she saw the Dwarves, her stupid Dwarves, boiling out of the passageway, weapons lifted, terror etched upon their faces as they realised what they had just walked into. Seeing her trapped beneath the Dragon, half buried under a landslide of gold.

"**I will take all that is your Oakenshield's! His life! This mountain! The Arkenstone! And ****Y O U****!**" he roared, a claw coming down around her, raking her up, gold and all, into his palm.

Or trying to.

She slithered out between his fingers with a cry and scrambled away. She did not get far before a tail crashed into the ground in front of her, blocking the path. She could hear the Dwarves shouting and scrambling down to reach her, as if they could actually protect her from Smaug.

"**Now, now, do not run away ****now****, Wind Rider. Our Trade is not complete!**" Smaug rumbled with malicious amusement as he herded her back towards him. "**The Arkenstone, for that pretty red gem. Amongst other things. So which will it be? You, or them?**" he demanded, his voice reverberating through her down to the bones once again.

She shook her head, "Both are unacceptable!" she declared as forcefully as she could before turning and running once again. She grabbed a silver tray from the treasure pile and jumped, her mind flashing back to those afternoons in winter, those rare times it snowed, and how she and Bilbo would go sledding on Belladonna Baggins' best tea-trays.

It wasn't much different.

She swept out of the dragon's reach and rolled off the tray when she finally reached the Dwarves, sprinting past them into the narrower reaches of the hall, Smaug roaring in frustration behind them.

"**YOU WILL ****BURN****!**"

_**000**_

The girl was shaking violently, her arms wrapped desperately around herself as she took great gulping breaths as they hid within one of the inner-chambers, once some Dwarrow's family Hall, now bereft and rotting. Bifur had her wrapped up securely in his arms and was crooning lowly in Khuzdul, stroking her hair as she tried to calm herself down. Balin was crouched in front of her, his earthen eyes wide with concern, his aged hands white knuckled and pressed against her knees.

She took a deep breath, "Well. I s-suppose now would be an extremely pointless m-moment to tell you that I succeeded," she admitted shakily.

"What?" Thorin breathed, turning from where he had been glaring down the passageway for any hint of the Dragon possibly sending fire to them like the funnel of a Blacksmith's forge. "You found the Arkenstone?"

She nodded and patted her chest where she had hidden it (in that place that all females possessed for hiding things).

"Don't worry about that right now, Lassie," Balin told her firmly, patting her knees. "We'll deal with that when we get out of here."

"Balin, Dwalin, Bifur, Fili, Dori, Gloin, Mistress Proudfoot's safety is now our number-one concern," Thorin rumbled aggressively from the doorway, staring down at her with unreadable eyes, hand gripping the hilt of his blade in a white knuckled hold. "Mistress Proudfoot, even if all of us are to fall this day, you will continue on to the Iron Hills in the East. Give the Arkenstone to Dain. My cousin. If none of us survive, it is _he_ who will rule over Erebor. Do you understand?" he instructed, looming over her.

She shook her head, "Yes. But you had best survive Thorin Oakenshield, you and all of this Company, because I will do no such thing. I will only hand this stone over to you or your nephews. So cease speaking of 'what ifs' and focus on getting out of here alive," she snapped swallowing down her fears and climbing to her feet, nodding sharply as Nori handed her sword over, hiding a grin behind his beard.

Thorin looked as if he had swallowed something exceptionally sour and didn't know how to feel about it. But he nodded silently all the same, and gave the Dwarves around her a _Look_. Undoubtedly to make sure they did as he told them to and protected her above all others. Her, or the stone, she didn't know. She needed to talk to Gandalf about the thing, because she had a bad feeling that it wasn't just some paltry gem, but something a great deal... _more_.

The room trembled and the sound of Smaug's fury echoed back to them, the hall behind them taking on an ominous glow.

"We should move on. Quickly," Dwalin murmured softly as he stood beside the Hobbit, shifting uneasily in his leathers. Thorin nodded and lead the group onwards, following dusty memories of a young Dwarrowling and reverent stories of a half-mad father drowning in grief. All that could be heard were the distant sounds of the Dragon's rage, and the steady pattering thuds of leather boots upon the stone floors. They moved as silently as they could, Willow having to tuck the hem of her dress into her trousers as she kept tripping on it, allowing the excess fabric to fold over and hang at her knees, Thorin glancing back at her in paranoia every few paces or so before turning his attention forward once more.

They came to a stop, nerves taut as they peered out into the Great Hall, Thorin twisting his head this way and that.

"We've given him the slip," Dori whispered, half hopeful, half elated.

"No, he's too cunning for that," Dwalin refused in a low rumble.

"Where to now? I can't hear him raging anymore, it might be an idea to double back and try to sneak our way out through the secret door," Willow suggested softly.

Thorin shook his head, "He will be expecting that. We make for the Western Guard House, there may be a way out there," he whispered.

Balin shook his head in dismay, "Too high. There's no chance that way."

Thorin grimaced, "It's our only chance. We have to try," he retorted quietly before gesturing the group to follow. Practically tip-toeing, they slipped out of the archway and began to edge along the bridge to the far wall, hearts in their throats, their palms sweating on the handles of their weapons.

They froze as a coin jingled upon the floor, dropping down in front of Kili who's eyes practically bugged out as he looked up in horror. The rest of the group going _painfully_ still, their blood filled with ice as the Dragon they had been trying to avoid clambered over the stonework above them. Inanely, Willow could only think that the stone masons of Erebor were truly master's of their craft if they could create such bridges and walk-ways able to hold up a dragon's weight.

With large eyes, Thorin silently gestured them onwards, the group following after as they finally left the Great Hall and into the lesser passages. Ori looked positively grey with terror under his rusty red beard. They sprinted through the dark corridors but to Willow, the air did not feel any fresher as they ran, nor did it feel cooler.

"Stay close," Thorin called back to them in an undertone as they turned a corner and down a small flight of stairs...

Into a dark room, filled with corpses.

Tiny corpses, and mummies wearing long dresses adorned with jewels. Women and children.

"That's it, then," Dwalin breathed roughly, staring down at their kin, those poor 'Dams and Dwarrowlings, their grey dried faces stretched in bare toothed snarls and screams of pain and fear. What must their last moments have been like? Running into this room only to find the entrance lost to rock and stone, caved in. "There's no way out."

Silence followed as the group filled the small stone room, their eyes affixed upon the faces of their lost people. Willow knelt beside a child, her hair dusty and curtained with cobwebs, the colour, like cinnamon and caramel, still visible even now, so many years later. Her tiny face, confused and lax, as if the truth of her own death had not yet sunk in. She reached out to close the lass's eyes, her hand hovering above her face as she realised that they were gone, rotted away by time, and all that remained were empty black holes, filled with dust, and memory.

"The last of our kin," Balin crackled, his voice rough and breaking with grief, "They must have come here, hoping... beyond hope." She touched the youngling's cheek, felt it cold and dry under her hand, like leather and bone all at once. So young. Too young. She could feel her voice still echoing, sweet like the chime of bells. "We could try to reach the Mines. We might last a few days," Balin told them hopelessly, his voice filled with resignation, but also something else. At least they would die within these Halls, so very few of them did not. At least they would die within their home.

Mines...

She yanked her hand back suddenly, "The Mines..." she whispered, there was something, a thought, an idea, something, something that Harry knew. Something about Mines, something Uncle Vernon had said. Something _important_! "Mines, mines, mines..." she muttered rapidly to herself as she climbed to her feet, unaware of the Dwarves staring at her in confusion as she snapped her fingers and scowled down at the ground, muttering and blinking. "Mines... Mining... _The Mines!_" she exclaimed, realisation hitting her hard.

"Lassie?" Balin asked worriedly, wondering if the hopelessness of their situation had addled her brains.

She lunged at them, "Bofur!" she demanded, seizing him by the shoulders, "You were a Miner, yes?"

"A-aye, b-before I was a Toymaker, aye," he admitted, glancing to the others in a little uncertainty.

"Mining Charges, can you make them?" she demanded harshly, a strange, almost manic light in her green eyes.

"Mining Charges?" Bofur echoed, "What's that?"

"Ahhhh! They're a bit like Gandalf's fireworks but with less fire and more force, they're used to break rocks that drills- ah, pickaxes can't!" she explained quickly, watching as realisation filled Bofur's face.

"Aye, yes I know how t'make 'em. Why?" he asked.

"How strong?" she asked, not answering.

"Strong enough to bring down the gates of Moria. Lassie, what's this about?"

She let him go, a ferocious light filling her expression, "I have an idea."

_**000**_

"This is either the most genius plan ever, or the craziest," Dwalin growled as they peered around the corner of the Great Hall.

"Amazing how those two traits often describe the same thing," Willow quipped from behind him, sandwiched between Thorin and the tattooed Dwarf, Bofur and Balin behind them.

"How'd you even know about the flash-flame, Willow?" Bofur asked in an undertone.

She snorted, "I am well read," she stated bluntly. She did not act like it most of the time but when she was younger she had been thrown off having two sets of memories and experiences and beliefs and so had read everything she could get her little hands on to try and make sense of herself, or this strange new world, of the strange world she left behind. When she met Halbarad she requested books from the Elves and with his help read them and learned even more of the world. But nothing of her old one. She was very well read, but preferred to fight instead of read, she liked to move her body instead of curl up in front of the fire with a book and a pipe like Bilbo. As for Harry. Uncle Vernon had often ranted at great length about how his drills were superior to mining charges and that those '_goddamn yanks_' just liked explosions too much to have a goddamn piece of sense to know a good deal when it was slapping them in the face.

"Shh, quiet," Thorin rumbled, a hand pressing between her shoulderblades warningly. The group went silent as they heard Gloin, Dori, Nori, and Bombur shouting to Smaug, distracting him, drawing him away. "Now, go, go!" the Dwarf King hissed and Dwalin took off at a dead sprint, abandoning stealth and quietness in favour of speed, Willow sprinting after him with the other three males behind her.

The plan was to get to the forges ahead of everyone else, get there, Balin and Bofur make the strongest Mining Charges they physically could, wrap them in cloth and get to high-ground. The rest would join them as soon as possible, drawing the dragon along with them. It was true that dragons were fire-proof, and that trying to throw explosives into his mouth _while_ he was breathing fire was stupid. Hence why they needed to get him monologuing, talking instead of breathing fire. All dragons were remarkably serpentine in shape and manner, serpents with wings. Serpents, as she knew from childhood whimsy and investigation, who could not vomit. The only way to get a snake to vomit was to drown it first, only then would it regurgitate what it has eaten, they had an automatic _swallowing_ reflex for things that struck the back of their throats.

Throw the explosives into Smaug's mouth, he would then swallow them. Hopefully. The second he tried to light up a flame, the heat would set it off, and suddenly he's got a massive concussive explosion in the pit of his stomach. A stomach that is decidedly _less_ than fireproof.

They chose the forge for his deathbed as it was hardy, made of strong iron and the most reinforced place within the mountain, it would withstand the deaththrows of a dragon, and what's more, offer them enough shelter to protect themselves from whatever might happen when that explosion went off. Willow tried to explain the idea of a gun to the Dwarves, but they didn't get it. She did not want to see if the jewels and coins embedded under Smaug's scales would be shot out from under them with the force of the blast as if fired from said gun.

It was a long sprint to the forges, neither Balin nor Bofur were handling it well, almost bent double with exertion by the time they reached the heavy gates. Gates about as thick as the door of Bag-End was wide and tall.

"This way Lassie!" Balin wheezed, leading both her and Bofur to one of the back rooms, Dwalin remaining behind at the forges to await the others as Thorin followed behind them.

The room was dusty and filled with jars and bowls but it was serviceable.

Bofur nodded in excitement, "Aye, everything's here! Everything I'll need!" he exclaimed excitedly as he began to snatch jars from the shelves, Willow hastily taking them from him and holding them as he grabbed more and more, loading her and Thorin up with them. Balin directing them to the table before they were joined by the miner who swept as much dust and webbing aside as he could before getting to work, Willow using her dress to clean some of the bowls before he used them as powders and granules were added.

She turned to grab more and stopped, staring at a large stone box upon the floor, a nasty idea whispering faintly in her mind.

She grabbed it and hauled it onto the table, making the males stop and look at her in confusion, wondering why she was bringing them a box of six-inch long iron nails.

"Room for a little more?" she asked grimly, a nasty smile on her lips. If they were going to kill this monster, she wanted to be _certain_ he was going to die.

Bofur laughed a little weakly, "Remind me not to get on yer bad side," he said a little faintly as Thorin took one of the nails in hand with an unsettling light in his eyes.

"Thorin?!" Fili's voice shouted to them.

"In here!" the Dwarf turned, dropping the nail as his sister's sons ran in, escorted by Oin. Parts of him that he didn't know were wound tight relaxed at seeing them both unharmed, if a little dusty, and greatly out of breath. He dragged Kili into a tight embrace before reaching out to clasp Fili's arm, letting them both know with the strength of his grip how worried he had been and how much he cared.

"Done," Bofur declared, dragging their attention back to the table where Willow was emptying the box of nails into a sack. Bofur stood in front of a bowl of black and grey powder, Balin at his side holding a delicate glass bottle filled with an odd, semi viscous transparent liquid.

Balin shook his head, watching as Bofur poured the granules into a separate sack, and then gently set the bottle of see-through liquid inside of it, "I have to say Lassie, you have a _frightening_ mind. I don't think any soul has ever thought to do anything like this before," he admitted, watching as Bofur wrapped the explosive package carefully and then set it into the sack of nails the Hobbit had set out for him. She glanced at him as she began to place more nails atop it before looking down.

"I'm good at using what's available in unexpected ways," she admitted as she lifted the bomb carefully, testing the weight and shaking her head. "Kili, you have better strength than me and a fair eye. Think you can do it?" she asked, handing the bomb to him, she didn't have the physical strength to throw it as accurately as she would have liked.

He hummed thoughtfully, hefting it in one hand and then in both before nodding seriously, "I'd need to be high enough, and at a good angle, but yeah. I think I could manage it."

The room suddenly shook and they could hear the sound of the forges light and the other shouting and swearing.

"Looks like we're out of time," Willow muttered, "Get to your positions! Balin, show us where to go!"

"This way Lassie!" the elderly Dwarf exclaimed as the room shook once again, leading them out through a side door to a large flight of stairs. They staggered every now and again as everything shook and Willow gave distant thought to the people of Lake Town, the people who must have been beside themselves with terror believing the dragon would be coming for them soon.

'_Not if I can help it,_' she swore viciously in her head skidding to a stop. "Kili, keep going higher! Find a good spot and stay out of sight, wait until I get Smaug's attention on me! And remember, mid-word when his chest is dark!" she commanded as Balin lead him onward.

She turned and squawked, jumping a little when she very nearly ran into Fili. He caught her arm, his gaze serious and full of worry, "Are you sure about this? He could burn you alive," he warned her.

"I don't think he will. I have the Arkenstone for one. Besides, he wants to _keep_ me, for whatever reason. I'm probably a lot safer than any of you. Go. Make sure Kili doesn't get the bright idea to jump into his mouth in order to make sure that package gets to where it's supposed to go," she told him, giving him a push towards the stairs. She grunted as she was suddenly crushed into a tight hug by the blond Dwarf.

"We're lucky to have known you, Lady Proudfoot. We never would have made it this far without you," he told her gruffly before pulling away, "Stay safe," he ordered before running off after his younger brother.

She scoffed quietly, "I don't take orders from you, Princeling," she whispered before turning to the archway, the intricate stone carvings glowing with light from the forge. She could feel the air moving, cold at her back, heat at her front. A wind rushing around her as she stood between the two, half in darkness, half in light.

She waited a moment, to give the others time to get to a safe position, and then stepped into the light, onto the balcony that overlooked the forges.

The gates were broken and dented, the Dragon having finally burst through, the forges were lit, their cauldron's filled with bubbling liquid gold. Smaug rampaging and thrashing throughout the hard stone and thick iron of the chamber. Her Dwarves running hither and yon like panicked mice before a hungry barn cat.

She took a breath, squaring her shoulders, "SMAAAUG!" she screamed, causing the beast to turn and affix her with those beautiful golden eyes, pupils widening and then narrowing at the sight of her. "I THOUGHT YOU BETTER THAN THIS! BETTER THAN THE FILTHY GRUBBING ORCS AND GOBLINS WHO TAKE WITHOUT APPRECIATION THE TREASURES THEY HORDE!" she screamed as the dragon slithered towards her. She was just high enough that he had to sit upright, on his hind legs to reach her level.

The dragon laughed as he lifted himself to her level.

"_Kiliiiii!_" she heard Thorin bellowing from down below as the dragon's laugh actually blew her off her feet and down onto her back.

She saw the sack in slow motion, it sailed through the air and down the dragon's throat. She saw the instant it made contact with the fleshy back of his mouth in the moment the dragon's eyes snapped open wide and the muscles of his throat automatically contracted. He reared back with a bellow of anger and confusion.

"**WHAT DID YOU GIVE MEEE?!**" he roared furiously, his chest lighting up.

"_TAKE COVER!_" Willow screamed as she flung herself backwards, tumbling down the airs as she heard the muffled explosion – an explosion that was drowned out by the most _awful_ screech she had ever heard.

She grunted, hitting the bottom of the stairs hard and rolling onto her stomach as the mountain around her shuddered and shook with the dragon's painfilled thrashing, his death-shriek tearing at her ears and filling the air.

She clamped her hands over her ears and moaned in pain, feeling it vibrate down to her bones, fill her being. So much pain and hate and rage.

And then it went quiet.

Slowly, hesitantly, she pulled her hands from her ears, and climbed to her feet. She couldn't hear anything. Not the voices of her Dwarves, nor the sound of Smaug's breath. Her ears were ringing so hard that she couldn't even hear the forges as she slowly climbed up the stairs and onto the balcony. Edging forward until she looked out upon the Forge.

And the Dragon below. His eyes dull, his mouth open and slack, tongue splayed upon the stone, bloody foam upon his jaws, his stomach and chest, distended, swollen and bloated, torn open at his left breast, his heart and lungs dangling from the tear, nails embedded in the now still and silently steaming organs.

Smaug was dead.

_**000**_

**Yes. I killed Smaug with a motherfucking Nail-bomb Mining Charge. This chapter has been written for weeks now. You have no idea how much I have WANTED to put this up!**

**If you're wondering why his chest was torn open, Willow never saw the missing scale from where the black arrow found its mark, but it was a gap in the armour and there was a lot of pressure inside Smaug for that explosion, the force tore the tiny hole open and then expelled his heart and lungs outside of said tear. A decidedly NOT nice way to go.**

Note about Smaug and Willow.

For Tolkein's dragons, they like Gold. LOVE it. But you know what they like more? Taking it.

The act of dispossessing someone of their belongings, Gold, Kingdom, Life, or Family, is of great pleasure to a Dragon. So for Smaug to want to keep Willow in the way that he did had nothing to do with her beyond the fact that she was an interesting novelty, and EVERYTHING to do with the simple fact that due to the contract, her life technically belonged to Thorin. Ergo, so did she in Smaug's mind. Stealing her from him, keeping the Arkenstone, AND his bargaining chip, even luring him into the Mountain just to see his face and then steal his life, was what he wanted, what he planned.

Figured I should explain that a little clearer as it won't be coming up in the story.

**Also, updates will be on pause for a little bit while I work to get my buffer back (I only have two chapters left waiting in the wings). Shouldn't take too long.**


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